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THE END OF AN ERA 



BY 



JOHN S. WISE 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1899 

I- 







COPYRIGHT, -fSW.'^^ir JOHN S. WISE. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



tECSND copy. 







PREFACE 

This book needs this much of an apology. It is to 
a great extent the autobiography of an insignificant per- 
son. If it were that alone, it would have no excuse for 
publication, and would possess little interest for those out- 
side the immediate home circle. But it is not an autobio- 
graphy alone. It introduces views of Southern life and 
feelings and civilization, prior to and during the war, 
which possess an unflagging interest for the American 
people; and it tells the true story of several strikino- 
events which preceded our civil strife, and many episodes 
of the great war. Besides these, it gives accurate de- 
scriptions not heretofore published of the appearance and 
actions and sayings of many distinguished participants on 
the Confederate side. 

When I first concluded to print the book, I made an 
honest effort to construct it in the third person. It was 
a lamentable failure, and made it appear even more egotis- 
tical than in its present form. Having returned to the 
narrative in the first person singular, I found myself a 
participant in several scenes in which I was not actually 
present. How to eliminate these, and at the same time 
preserve the continuity of the narrative, was a serious 
problem. I solved it at last by the consent of my only 
hving brother that he would stand for me in several epi- 



PREFACE 

L-.i. luS, having told me all I know.^ I will not mar the 
narrative by pointing out the places in which my brother 
is myself. This confession redeems the book from being 
classed either as an autobiography or a romance ; and 
whenever anybody shall say to me, " Why, you were not 
there?" I will answer, like the Israelite gentleman, 
"Yes, I know. Dot vas mine brudder." The reader 
gets the facts as they were, and that is all he ought to 
expect. 

I dedicate it to my old Confederate comrades, the 
bravest, simplest, most unselfish, and affectionate friends 
I ever had. 

J. S. W. 

New York, September 10, 1899. 

^ Hon. Richard A. Wise, Williamsburg, Va. 



FAGB 
1 

10 
23 
33 
52 
61 
89 



CONTENTS 

I. A Long Way from Home 

II. The Kingdom of Accawmacke 

in. Our Folks in General and in Particular 
rV. My Mother: First Lessons in Politics . 
V. The Know-nothing Campaign and Life in Richmond . 

VI. Behind the Scenes 

VII. My Brother 

VIII. Unveiling of Washington's Statue, and Removal of 

Monroe's Remains, 1859 

113 
IX. The John Brown Raid 

X. How the " Slave-Drivbrs " lived .... 137 

XI. The Calm before the Storm — The Cloudburst . 152 

XII. The Roanoke Island Tragedy 1'^ 

Xin. The Merrimac and the Monitor 19^ 

^^r A T^ ... 206 

XIV. A Refugee 

219 

XV. Among the Mountains 

ft 232 
XVI. Presbyterlvn Lexington 

XVII A New Phase of Military Life 244 

276 
. 285 

310 
. 328 

346 
. 372 

392 
. 412 

437 



XVIII. A Hunt and almost a Licking . 
XIX. The Most Glorious Day of My Life 
XX. The Grub becomes a Butterfly 
XXI. Life at Petersburg . . • • 
XXII. The Battle of the Crater 

XXIII. The Confederate Reserves . 

XXIV. The Beginning of the End 
XXV. The End in Sight .... 

XXVI. The End 

Index 



465 



THE END OF AN ERA 



CHAPTER I 
A LONG WAY FROM HOME 



It was the day after Christmas in the year 1846. 

Near sundown, two young officers of the army of the 
United States sat upon one of the benches on the pro- 
menade of the great reservoir which supplies the city of 
Rio de Janeiro with water. 

Both were lieutenants, — one of engineers, the other 
of artillery. Any one half acquainted with the United 
States would have recognized them as West Pointers ; and 
their presence in this far-away spot was easily accounted 
for by a glance downward from the coign of vantage 
where they sat, at a fleet of United States men-of-war and 
troop ships riding at anchor in the bay. 

Nowhere in all the world is there a scene more beauti- 
ful than that spread out before them. Below, falling 
away down the mountain side to the silver sands of the 
bay, were the palms and gardens, and orange and olive 
groves, surrounding the residence of the Cateti suburb. 
To seaward, the southern boundary of the mile-wide 
entrance to the bay, loomed the bald, brown peak of the 
Sugar Loaf Mountain, with the beautiful suburb of Bota- 
fogo nestling near its base. Huge mountains, their dense 
foliage lit by the sinking sun, ran down to the water's 
edge upon the opposite or northern shore. Far beneath 



2 THE END OF AN ERA 

them was the Gloria landing for naval vessels. To west- 
ward, sweeping out into the bay with bold and graceful 
curves, and spread beneath them like a map, was the pen- 
insula upon which the city of Rio is built, and beyond 
this, gleaming in the evening sunlight, and studded with 
islands of intense verdure, extended the upper bay until 
it was lost in the distance, where, on the horizon, the blue 
peaks of the Organ range closed in the lovely picture. 

The ships bearing the commands to which the young 
gentlemen were attached were bound to California around 
Cape Horn. The troops were to take jjart in the war 
then flagrant between the United States and Mexico. A 
short stop had been made at Rio for water and provisions, 
and these two youngsters were among the first to apply 
for and obtain shore leave. 

The dusty appearance of their dress, and other evidences 
of fatigue, showed that they had not failed to sustain the 
reputation of their countrymen as investigators of every- 
thing new and strange. In fact, they had, in the morning, 
exhausted the sights to be seen in the city. After amusing 
themselves in the shops of the Rua Direita, and replenish- 
ing their stock of Spanish books in the Rua do Ovidor, 
and wandering through several churches and residence 
streets, they had become very much interested in the re- 
markable aqueduct which supplies the city of Rio with 
water. 

Our young soldiers, in their engineering zeal, had fol- 
lowed the aqueduct back to its source of supply ; and 
now, bound for the Gloria landing, were resting, deeply 
impressed by the great work, and by the genius and skill 
of its builders. But both the youths, recalling the fact 
that it was the Christmas season, felt, in spite of all the 
tropical novelty and strange beauty surrounding them, 
as evening closed in, a yearning for an American home 



A LONG WAY FROM HOME 3 

and voice and face ; and their conversation naturally 
enough fell into conjecturing how the Christmas was being 
spent by their own loved ones in the United States, or in 
bemoaning the good things they were missing. 

While thus engaged, they saw two men approaching. 
One was in civilian dress; the other wore the uniform 
of assistant surgeon in the United States navy. The new- 
comers were engaged in animated conversation ; and, 
although the civilian was a man of forty, while his com- 
panion was a youngster of twenty-five, there was little if 
any difference in the alertness of their steps. 

The faces of the young officers lit up with pleasure as, 
upon the near approach of the two pedestrians, they caught 
the sound of genuine United States English. They had 
observed the American flag floating from a residence in 
the Cateti, and had no doubt that the persons who were 
now passing were in some way connected with the lega- 
tion. Accordingly, with that freedom which fellow coun- 
trymen feel in addressing each other in foreign lands, the 
West Pointers arose at the approach of the two gentle- 
men, and, catching the eye of the elder of the two, ad- 
vanced, announced their rank and service, and made some 
inquiry as a groundwork of further conversation. They 
were not mistaken in their surmises. The gentleman 
addressed was the Envoy Extraordinary and Minister 
Plenipotentiary to the Empire of Brazil from the Republic 
of the United States. A title like that was well calculated 
to paralyze the familiarity of two young military men ; 
and when they realized that, unannounced and covered 
with dust, they had of their own motion ventured into 
conversation with the bearer of such an august title, their 
first impulse was to apologize for their temerity and to 
withdraw. Even from an officer of no higher grade than 
captain in their own service, they were accustomed to a 



4 THE END OF AN ERA 

greeting strictly formal, usually accompanied by the in- 
quiry, " Well, sir ? state your business ; " and, having 
done so, they were generally glad enough to salute and 
withdraw. Here they were, without any business, stand- 
ing in the presence of a high official, with nothing more 
to say, and with no excuse to give for what they had said. 
But before their embarrassment could grow more annoy- 
ing, the minister put them completely at their ease. 
" Well met ! " he exclaimed ; " we are just returning 
homeward from the city. Come ! The more the merrier : 
you shall dine with me. I still have some Christmas 
turkey and plum pudding, and we will drink the health 
of the good angel who sent my countrymen to me at this 
blessed season." 

During the course of their walk to the American lega- 
tion, the young fellows had opportunity to observe their 
newly found host more carefully. To them he was a 
revelation. His name and position in politics were not 
unknown to them ; for although still young, he had for 
many years been a conspicuous figure in national politics 
in the United States. The echoes of his eloquence, as 
well as accounts of his game-cock courage, had penetrated 
even into the isolated world of the Academy at West 
Point. In fact, he had been absent from the United 
States but two or three years upon this mission, which 
had been accepted partly on account of failing health, 
and partly from a desire to strike a blow at the infamous 
African slave-trade. He had accomplished much towards 
breaking up the slave-trade, and derived great benefit to 
his health. 

Brilliant at all times in conversation, he was, on this 
occasion, unusually interesting. The sight of his coun- 
try's ships in the harbor, and the news of the struggle 
with Mexico, so excited and elated him that he was seen 



A LONG WAY FROM HOME 5 

at his best by his visitors. The two boys studied him as 
if he had been some great actor. Tall and thin, he was 
nevertheless exceedingly active and muscular. His dress 
consisted of simple black, with spotless linen. He wore 
the open standing collar and white scarf affected by the 
gentlemen of that period. The only ornament upon his 
person was a large opal pin confining the neckerchief. 
His head gear, suited to the climate, was one of those ex- 
quisitely wrought white Panama hats which is the envy of 
men living beyond the tropics. Beneath this was a head 
exquisitely moulded, with a noble brow, and large hazel 
eyes, the ever-changing expression of which, coupled with 
a full, rich voice, charmed and fascinated his guests. His 
silken blond hair was thrown back and worn long, as was 
the custom of the day. A nose too handsome to be called 
Roman, yet too strong to be designated as Grecian ; a 
mouth wide and mobile, filled with even, white teeth ; and 
a strong chin with a decided dimple, — completed the re- 
markable face which turned in ever-changing expression, 
from time to time, towards its companions, as they strode 
homeward in the twilight. 

Such was the American minister ; and, according to the 
mood in which one found him, he impressed the stranger 
as the gentlest, the tenderest, the most loving, the most 
eloquent, the most earnest, the most fearless, the most 
impassioned, or the fiercest man he had ever met. No- 
body who saw him ever forgot him. 

They reached the legation just as it was growing dark, 
and as the full-orbed moon was rising from the distant 
sea. Seeking the veranda, and seating his guests in the 
wicker easy-chairs with which it was well supplied, the 
minister excused himself, and left them for a few minutes 
to their own observations and reflections. 

As the soft sea-breeze came up to them, laden with 



6 THE END OF AN ERA 

garden perfumes ; as they watched the golden highway of 
the moon's reflection on the sea ; as they saw the twin- 
kling lights of the ships in the deep shadows of the bay 
below them, — they felt as if they had indeed discovered 
an earthly paradise ; and when a fair blond girl in filmy 
apjDarel glided through the drawing-room and joined them, 
speaking pure English, it seemed as if their paradise was 
being peopled by angels. Everybody here spoke in Eng- 
lish. Everything spoke of home. The pictures on the 
walls, the books on the tables, yes, the dishes at table, 
were all American. 

The visitors were conducted to their apartments to 
make necessary preparations for dinner. Soon after their 
return to the drawing-room, the minister reappeared with 
a look somewhat troubled, as he apologized for his long 
absence and the non-appearance of the lady of the house. 

A moment later the folding-doors rolled back, and the 
English butler announced that dinner was served. Oh, 
what a contrast with the ward-room of the man-of-war in 
which our two lieutenants had been dining for a month or 
more! 

Dinner over, the company once more sought the cool 
veranda, where coffee and cigars were served. There they 
were joined by Baron Lomonizoff, the Russian minister, 
who had called to be informed of all the recent develop- 
ments in the controversy with Mexico, and who spoke 
English perfectly. Later, just as the baron was bidding 
adieu, in fact, at what seemed to our young friends to be a 
very late hour for visiting, the oddest imaginable specimen 
of Brazilian humanity was introduced as Dr. Ildefonso. 

His efforts at English were startling. They nearly 
convulsed our two young friends, and reconciled them to 
their own failures at Portuguese. 

As the little doctor showed no signs of leaving, and 



A LONG WAY FROM HOME 7 

as, by one or two indications, the young visitors began to 
suspect it was time for them to go, they reluctantly took 
their departure, thanking their host a thousand times for 
the pleasure he had given them, and chatting joyously, on 
the route to the ship, about the good fortune which had 
given them such a Merry Christmas. 

The little Brazilian doctor and the surgeon in the navy 
had remained because there was work on hand for them. 
I entered my name on the docket of humanity that night ; 
and, as the lawyers say, my cause was continued until the 
further order of the court. 

How do I know it ? I will tell you. 

Forty-five years later, at a great banquet in New York, 
I was sitting beside an aged, grizzled general of the 
armies of the Union. 

Said the old general cheerily, " Did I ever tell you of 
my visit to your father in Rio ? " Receiving a negative 
response, he proceeded in his inimitable way to recount 
every incident above set forth, omitting the hour of his 
own departure from the legation. The memory of the 
struggles of the little Brazilian doctor with the English 
language still amused him immensely. He was recalling 
some absurd mistake of Dr. Ildefonso, when I looked up, 
and, with a merry twinkle in my eye, said, " General, at 
what hour did you leave the Cateti that night ? " " Oh, 
I should say about eleven or twelve o'clock," said the 
general. " Well, now, do you know, my dear general, 
I deeply regret you left so early. I arrived myself that 
night about two hours after your departure, and would 
have been so delighted to meet you under my father's 
roof." This sally was met by a hearty laugh from the 
listening company, and was followed by a glass of wine 
to the memory of those olden days, since when so many 
things have happened. 



8 THE END OF AN ERA 

The young lieutenant of artillery, and the old general 
above described, was no other than William Tecumseh 
Sherman, commander of the armies of the Union. His 
companion was the officer who afterwards became famous 
as General Halleck. Neither of them ever met again 
their host of that evening. 

In later years, he also became a distinguished general, 
but on the Confederate side. He never knew that Sher- 
man and Halleck, the great Union generals, were the 
young officers he entertained at Kio the night I was born ; 
for he died many years before the general revealed his 
identity as above related. 

Forty years after this meeting, when I was in Congress, 
I received a letter from a dear old retired chaplain of the 
navy living in Boston, Rev. Mr. Lambert, asking my 
assistance in some public matter, and concluding with the 
remark that this demand of a stranger sprung from the 
fact that the writer had held me in his arms and baptized 
me at the American legation in Rio, April 14, 1847. 

In the spring of 1847, my father asked the President 
for a recall ; and, his petition being granted, the United 
States frigate Columbia was placed at his disposal for the 
return to America. 

I was a tried seaman when, for the first time, I set 
foot upon the soil of my country, and took up my resi- 
dence where my people had lived for over two hundred 
years. I was not born on the soil of the United States, 
but nevertheless in the United States ; for the place 
where I was born was the home of a United States min- 
ister, and under the protection of the United States flag, 
and was in law as much the soil of the United States as 
any within its boundaries. Descended from a number of 
people who helped to form the Union, born under the 



A LONG WAY FROM HOME 9 

glorious stars and stripes, rocked in the cradle of an 
American man-of-war, and taught to love the Union next 
to my Maker, little did I dream of the things, utterly 
inconsistent with such ideas, which were to happen to 
me and mine within the first eighteen years of my 
existence. 



CHAPTER II 

THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 

Our voyage terminated in the kingdom of Accaw- 
macke, the abiding-place of my ancestors for two and a 
half centuries. Although within eight hours of New 
York and six hours from Philadelphia by rail, the region 
and its people are as unlike those of these crowded centres 
of humanity as if they were a thousand miles away. 

John Smith tells us, in his memorable narrative of his 
earliest American explorations, that when Captain Nelson 
sailed in June, 1607, for England, in the good ship 
Phoenix, he, John, in his own barge, accompanied him 
to the Virginia capes ; and there, after delivering his 
writings for the company, he parted with him near the 
southernmost cape, which he named Cape Henry. Sail- 
ing northward. Captain Smith first visited the seaward 
island, which he named Smith's Island, after himself. It 
is still called Smith's Island, and is owned by the Lee 
family. Then he returned to the northernmost cape, at 
the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay, and named it Cape 
Charles, in honor of the unfortunate prince afterwards 
known as Charles I. Upon the point of this cape Smith 
encountered an Indian chief, whom he describes as " the 
most comely, proper, civil salvage " he had yet met. The 
name of this chief was Kictopeke. He was called " The 
Laughing King of Accomack," and Accomack means, in 
the Indian tongue, " The Land Beyond the Water." He 
bore in his hand a long spear or harpoon, with a sharp- 



THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 11 

ened fish-bone or shell upon its point ; and he it was who 
taught John Smith and his companions to spear the 
sheepshead and other fish in the shallow waters hard by. 
John Smith and The Laughing King have been buried 
for well-nigh three centuries, but the people about Cape 
Charles still spear sheepshead on the shoals in the same 
old way. 

Smith and his companions cruised along the western 
shore of this Peninsula of Accawmacke, which is the east- 
ern shore of the Chesapeake Bay, until they reached what 
is now called Pocomoke River, the present boundary be- 
tween Virginia and Maryland. The distance is probably 
eighty miles. The reason assigned for the long cruise 
was that they were searching for fresh water. To those 
who know the abundant springs of the Peninsula, this 
statement is surprising. Overtaken in the neighborhood 
of Pocomoke by one of those summer thunder-storms 
which are so prevalent in that region, they were driven 
across the bay to the western shore, and thence they 
cruised down the Chesapeake until they turned into what 
is now called Hampton Roads. Passing the low sand- 
spit where the ramparts of Fortress Monroe now frown 
and the gay summer resorts are built, they stopped at 
the Indian village Kickotan, located upon the present site 
of Hampton. Obtaining there a good supply of food 
from the Indians, they returned to the Jamestown settle- 
ment, about forty miles up the river, then called Pow- 
hatan, now known as the James. In this as in all things, 
the Englishman appropriated what belonged to the In- 
dian, and King James supplanted King Powhatan. 

It was on this return voyage that Smith, while prac- 
ticing the art acquired from the King of Accawmacke, 
impaled a fish upon his sword, in the shallow waters about 
the mouth of the Rappahannock River. Unaware of the 



12 THE END OF AN ERA 

dangerous character of his captive, he received in his wrist 
a very painful wound from the spike-like fin upon the 
tail of the fish. This wound caused such soreness and 
such swelling that he thought he was like to die, and his 
whole party went ashore and laid Smith under a tree, 
where he made his will. " But," says he, " by night time 
the swelling and soreness had so abated that I had the 
pleasure of eating that fish for suj)per." The next morn- 
ing the journey was resumed, and the place, in remem- 
brance of the incident, was named Stingaree Point. To 
this day, that point at the mouth of the Rappahannock 
is called Stingaree Point ; and that fish is still called 
Stingaree by the people along the Chesapeake Bay. 

After this famous cruise, John Smith, who was as ac- 
tive and restless as a box of monkeys, made his map of 
Virginia, which is still extant, — and a pretty good map 
it is, showing his capes and his islands, and his points and 
his rivers, and what not, — in which map the Kingdom 
of Accawmacke bears a most conspicuous part. 

On that historic document, old John at certain points 
printed little pictures of deer, to show where they most 
abounded ; and at other points he designated where the 
wild turkeys were most plentiful. The author of this 
humble narrative has, in his day, hunted every variety of 
game which abounds at the present time in Old Virginia ; 
and just where the deer and turkeys were most abundant 
in 1608, according to John Smith's map, there are they 
most abundant now. In the counties of Surry and Sus- 
sex, upon the south side of the James, run, doubtless, the 
descendants of those very deer whose pictures adorn the 
map of John Smith, published three centuries ago ; and 
within the past twelve months the writer has followed 
the great-great-great-grandchildren of the identical tur- 
keys, no doubt, from whose flocks were captured, in 1616, 



THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 13 

the twenty birds sent by King Powhatan to his brother 
the King o£ England. 

But to return to our Kingdom of Accawmacke. 

After the Jamestown colonists had tired of poor old 
John Smith, after he had blown himself up with his own 
powder while smoking in his boat, upon one of his return 
trips to Jamestown from the present site of Richmond ; 
after he had returned to England, broken in health and 
sjDirits, — the colonists who remained found, among their 
other miseries and tribulations, that they were sadly in 
need of salt. 

Bearing in mind stories brought back from the coast 
by Smith, Sir Thomas Dale, governor, in the year 1612 
detailed a party from the Jamestown settlement to go to 
the Kingdom of Accawmacke and boil salt for the settlers 
at Jamestown. 

We may well imagine that such a task was far from 
grateful to those to whom it was allotted. It was looked 
forward to by them, no doubt, as the equivalent of soli- 
tary confinement in a dangerous locality. At Jamestown 
the settlers were located upon an island. This fact and 
their numbers gave them comparative security from the 
savages. In Accawmacke the party assigned to salt- 
boiling was placed upon the same land as the Indians ; 
and its numbers were so small, and the position so iso- 
lated from the chief settlement by the Chesapeake Bay 
between them, that their situation would have been most 
perilous in case of attack. It was therefore, doubtless, 
in the spirit of satire that the party named the place at 
which they first located upon the eastern shore. Dale's Gift. 

Thus came about the fii'st settlement of the white man 
upon the eastern shore peninsula of Virginia ; and, recog- 
nizing its separation from the other settlements, the kings 
of England for many years addressed all their decrees to 



14 THE END OF AN ERA 

the Virginia colonists to their " faithful subjects in ye 
Colonie of Virginia and ye Kingdom of Accawmacke." 

Like many another venture undertaken reluctantly and 
in ignorance, this settlement upon the eastern shore 
proved to be anything but an irksome and dangerous 
transfer. The party at Dale's Gift found the Accaw- 
macke Indians totally unlike the warlike and treacherous 
tribes across the bay ; and from that time forth there 
never was, not even at the time of the general outbreak 
of the savages in 1G29, any serious trouble between the 
whites and the Indians of the eastern shore. The climate 
also was much more salubrious than that of the swampy 
region where the brackish waters at Jamestown bred 
malaria. As for sustenance, they found the place an 
earthly paradise. In the light and sandy soil corn, vege- 
tables, and many varieties of fruit grew with little care of 
cultivation and in great abundance. Fish and shell-fish 
of every kind abounded in the ocean, bay, and inlets. 
Wild fowls of many sorts, from the lordly wild goose to 
the tiny teal, swarmed in the marshes and along the coast. 
Game in great abundance, furred and feathered, could be 
had for the shooting of it upon the land ; the fig and the 
pomegranate grew in the open air. And the influence of 
the Gulf Stream, which in passing these capes approaches 
to within thirty miles of the coast and then turns abruptly 
eastward, made, as it still makes, residence upon the east- 
ern shore of Virginia most charming and delightful. The 
eastern shore men were the epicures of the colony. A 
hundred years before New York knew the terrapin, it was 
the daily food in Accawmacke. 

We may be sure that the less fortunate settlers at 
Jamestown, Smithfield, Henricopolis, Flower de Hundred, 
and the Falls of the James were not long in finding out 
the delights of this, at first, despised settlement in Accaw- 



THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 15 

macke. History tells us that when, twenty years later, 
the colony of Virginia was divided into eight colonies, 
" to be governed as are the shires in England," the Ac- 
cawmacke settlement was of sufficient importance to con- 
stitute of itself one of these eight counties ; and in 1643, 
when the whole colony had a population of but fifteen 
thousand, one thousand of these were upon the eastern 
shore. When Captain Edmund Scarburgh, presiding jus- 
tice, opened the first County Court of Accawmacke at 
Eastville, the county seat, in the autumn of 1634, The 
Laughing King of Accawmacke had no doubt ceased to 
laugh ; for he, like many another savage chief before and 
after him, had by this time felt the fangs of the British 
bull-dog sink deep into the vitals of his kingdom, and be- 
came sensible of the fact that it was a grip which, once 
fastened upon its prey, never relaxed its hold. 

Rare old records are those of Captain Edmund Scar- 
burgh and his successors, and very curious reading do 
they furnish. You may see them, reader, if, instead of 
flashing and dashing over every other country in search 
of novelty, you will seek the things which are interesting 
in your native land, within a stone's throw of your door. 
There they are, preserved to this day, in the little brick 
court house, and are continuous from then until now, 
without a break, preserving the history of their section 
intact through a period of nearly three centuries. 

The Peninsula is no longer a single county. About 
1643, ambitious Colonel Obedience Robins, from North- 
amptonshire, England, succeeded in changing the name 
of the Peninsula to Northampton. It was not until 1662, 
when the eastern shore of Virginia was divided into two 
counties, that the upper portion resumed the old title of 
Accawmacke, which it retains to this day. The lower part 
of the original Accawmacke is still called Northampton. 



16 THE END OF AN ERA 

Nowhere is the type of the original settler in Virginia 
so well preserved, or are to be found the antique customs, S 
manners, and ways of the Englishman of the seventeenth 
century in America so little altered, as in the Kingdom 
of Accawmacke. No considerable influx of population J 
from anywhere else has ever gone to the eastern shore } 
of Virginia since the year 1700. The names of the very J 
earliest settlers are still there. Everybody on the Pen- 
insula knows everybody else. Eveiybody there is kin to 
everybody else. Nobody is so poor that he is wretched ; 
nobody is so rich that he is proud. The majority of the 
upper class ai'e stanch Ejiiscopalians, just as their fathers 
were Church of England men ; and the remainder of the 
population are for the most part Methodists, Baptists, 
and Presbyterians. 

The vices of the community, as well as the virtues, are 
equally well-recognized inheritances from their progeni- 
tors. Fighting and drunkenness are by no means absent, 
but theft is rare among the whites. The kinship and 
sociability of the population are such that the fondness of 
the Englishman for sports of all kinds is freely indulged. 
No neighborhood is without its race-boat ; no court day 
without its sporting event of some kind ; and no tavern 
without its backgammon board, quoits, and, in old times, 
its fives-court. The poorhouse has fallen into decay. 
When a man dies, his kin are sufficiently numerous to 
care for his family ; and while he lives, there is no excuse 
for pauperism in a land where earning a living is so easy 
a matter. 

The citizen of Accawmacke may begin life with no 
other capital than a cotton string, a rusty nail, and a 
broken clam, and end it leaving a considerable landed 
estate. With his string for a line, his nail for a sinker, 
and his clam for bait, he can catch enough crabs to eat, 



THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 17 

and sell enough besides to enable bim to buy himself 
hooks and lines. With his hooks and lines he can catch 
and sell enough fish to buy himself a boat and oyster 
tongs. With his boat, fishing-lines, and oyster tongs he 
can, in a short while, catch and sell enough fish and oysters 
to enable him to build a sloop. With his sloop he can 
trade to Norfolk, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, 
sell fish, oysters, and terrapin, and carry fruit and vege- 
tables, until he has accumulated enough to buy his own 
little patch of ground, and build his house upon it. 
Then, from the proceeds of his fruit, berries, and every 
variety of early vegetable, for which he will find excellent 
markets, he is sure of a comfortable living with easy 
labor ; and he will be happier in his simple home than 
many who are far more pretentious, and whose incomes 
are far greater. 

Such has been for three centuries, and still is, the place 
and people among whom my lot was cast when I arrived 
from Brazil, — descendants of the families of Scarburgh, 
Littleton, Yeardley, Bowman, Wise, West, Custis, Smith, 
Ward, Blackstone, Joynes, Kennard, Evans, Robins, Up- 
shur, Fitchett, Simpkins, Nottingham, Goffigan, Pitts, 
Poulson, Bowdoin, Bagwell, Gillett, Parker, Parramore, 
Leatherbury, Cropper, Browne, and the rest of them, who 
were there, when Charles I. was king, and who gave the 
name of Old Dominion to Virginia because they refused 
to swear allegiance to the Pretender Cromwell, and made 
the colony the asylum of the fugitive officers of their 
lamented sovereign. 

Poor enough pay they got for their loyalty ; for, when 
Prince Charlie came to his own, although Sir Charles 
Scarburgh, son of old Captain Edmund of blessed mem- 
ory, was Court Surgeon, and although Colonel Edmund 
Scarburgh, his brother, was made Surveyor-General in 



18 THE END OF AN ERA 

Virginia, in recognition of his fidelity, the reckless sov- 
ereign gave away the devoted Kingdom of Accawmacke 
to his favorites, Arlington and Culpeper. To this day, 
one of the loveliest places upon the Peninsula, on Old 
Plantation Creek, bears the name of Arlington, bestowed 
upon it by John Custis, in honor of one of the proprie- 
tary lords of the eastern shore. 

A famous local celebrity in his day was this old John 
Custis, — feasting and junketing at lordly Arlington. 
When, in 1649, Colonel Norwood, seeking asylum in 
Virginia after King Charles's defeat, was shipwrecked 
upon the coast of the eastern shore, he first secured abun- 
dant clothing from Stephen Charlton, a minister of the 
Church of England, and his sufferings were atoned for, 
he says, by finding John Custis at Arlington. He tells 
us how he had known him as a tavern-keeper in Rotter- 
dam, and of the high living he had with Custis in his new 
home until he put him across the bay to Colonel Worm- 
ley's, more dead than alive from hospitality. 

From the point of Cape Charles to the Maryland bound- 
ary, the coast of the Peninsula on sea side and bay side 
is indented with inlets, which are called " creeks " in this 
section. On the bay side, going northward from the cape 
where the oldest settlements were made, the names of 
these creeks are English, such as Old Plantation, Cherry- 
stone, and Hungers. Higher up the bay side, the names 
given by the Indians before the white settlements seem to 
have been retained ; for we have successively Oceaban- 
nock, Nandua, Pungoteague, Onancock, Chesconessex, An- 
namessex, and Pocomoke as the names of the beautiful 
and bold inlets on the bay side. On the sea side, they 
rejoice in such titles as Assawamman, Chincoteague, and 
the like. These numerous inlets, many of which are navi- 
gable for vessels of considerable size, are but a few miles 



THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 19 

apart, and divide tlie Peninsula into many transverse 
" necks." Thus it often happens that neighbors living 
on opposite sides of these creeks, within hailing distance 
of each other, find it necessary, in order to visit each other 
by land, to travel miles around the head of the creek divid- 
ing them. Small boats are, therefore, as much in use as 
means of intercourse between neighbors, and for visiting 
the post-offices and little towns at the wharves, as are 
horses and vehicles ; and an eastern shore man is as much 
at home in a boat as uj)on the land. The public roads of 
the counties are called Bay Side and Sea Side roads, and 
their general course is up and down the Peninsula, just 
inside of the heads of the creeks. The only transverse 
public roads are those to the wharves, and an occasional 
cross road from the Bay Side to the Sea Side road. 

It by no means follows, from the general use of boats, 
that the travel by land is diminished ; for in no place is the 
proportion of wheeled vehicles to population greater than 
upon the eastern shore. Poor, indeed, is the citizen who 
cannot own, or cannot occasionally borrow, an animal and 
a vehicle of some kind. Strangers, visiting that section 
for the first time, get the impression that at least half the 
population is continually driving back and forth upon the 
highways ; and the number and variety of animals and 
vehicles collected at the county seat on court day is some- 
thing truly astonishing. The speed at which the driving 
is done is likewise a matter of comment and observation 
by many visitors to the eastern shore. 

People from the Blue Grass regions, where size and 
bone and symmetry count for so much in horseflesh, are at 
first disposed to look contemptuously upon the Accomack 
type of horse ; and, indeed, it must be confessed that he 
is not the highest expression of physical beauty. But 
never was the Scripture saying, that " the back is fitted 



20 THE END OF AN ERA 

to its burden," better exemplified tban in the tough and 
wiry little animal which you will sit behind, if you ever 
make a visit to this far-away kingdom. Small in stature, 
inclined even to those homely features known as ewe neck 
and cat ham, often higher behind than in front, and with 
great length of stifle, he is not, I admit, imjjosing to look 
upon. We must carefully scan the cunning little fellow 
before we condemn him. Note, if you please, in the first 
place, that the close, shiny coat bespeaks a strong infusion 
of the thoroughbred ; observe the large, gazelle-like eyes 
beaming beneath the foretop, which is fluffy and shaggy 
from the constant influence of salt sea air ; watch the 
nervous playing of the pointed ear, and see how the 
broad forehead tapers away to the muzzle, with its wide 
and flexible nostrils ; observe the clean, straight legs and 
flat knees before, and bent stifles, well muscled, behind ; 
run your hand over those pasterns, long, limber, and 
without a windgall ; and do not overlook the cup-like, 
often unshod, hoofs. What say you to those sloping 
shoulders, that deep chest, and those well-rounded ribs, 
close coupled to the heavy hips ? When you have fin- 
ished, you will not ridicule a moving machine like that, if 
you know good horseflesh when you see it. You may call 
him pony if you like. Many of them do, indeed, possess 
a cross derived from the wild pony of Chincoteague 
Island. Now, I see you turn to look at the light convey- 
ance, with its almost fragile harness, and know you are 
wondering whether such an outfit, drawn by such a horse, 
will take you to your destination. One drive will dissi- 
pate every doubt. You are starting for a journey in a 
country where there is not a hill twelve feet high within 
fifty miles, over light, well-packed sand roads, on which, 
in many places, you could hear an egg-shell crush beneath 
the wheel. 



THE KINGDOM OF ACCAWMACKE 21 

Come, mount with me. Never fear that our vehicle 
and harness are frail. They are light, but not fragile. In 
the matter of our driving we are exquisites, and we buy 
the toughest and the best. Never fear that we shall be 
overturned, or that we shall hurt the horse. Hurt him ? 
I love him as the apple of my eye ; and he knows me as 
the Arab steed knows his rider. See how the little rascal 
snuffs for a caress, as I loosen him from the fence where 
he and a long line of his companions are made fast. Now 
we have backed him out into the roadway. Gentle as a 
lamb, quick as a kitten, see the little bundle of nerves 
start the instant the reins ai^e gathered, and how, with 
that squat between the shafts, and spraddle, and over- 
reach in the hind legs, known to every horseman as the 
surest sign of going, he is settled to his work, and spin- 
ning us along at a slashing gait. Before long, twenty 
miles lie behind us, and when we pull up at Belle Haven 
or Horn Town, not a sign of weariness or punishment 
does the little beggar show. All that he asks — and he 
asks that in a way that no one can mistake his wish — is 
that we loosen his check-rein and let him stretch that 
bony neck, and give a long, deep heave, before he takes 
thirty swallows from the roadside water-trough. Then he 
rubs his neck against my sleeve, and his unclouded eye 
says, " Come, I am ready. Let us go again." 

Let me tell you, also, that the horse is not the only 
thing which you will find better than it looks in the King- 
dom of Accawmacke. The pretty little white-painted, 
red-roofed houses are better than they look, as you will 
learn when you enter their hospitable portals, and find 
them the abodes of refinement and virtue and hospitality. 
The quaint, flat farms are better than they look, as you 
will learn when you see the bountiful crops of fruit and 
high-priced early vegetables and berries which they pro- 



22 THE END OF AN ERA 

duce. The sea side and the bay side are even better 
than they look, as you will know when you learn the 
wealth of fish and shell-fish and sea food and game of 
which they are the storehouses. The people themselves 
are better than they look ; for, beneath their unassuming 
and oftentimes provincial appearance, they possess great 
shrewdness, great powers of observation, strong char- 
acter, decided opinions, refinement, and considerable edu- 
cation ; and, without one tinge of false pride, they are of 
a lineage as old and as honorable as any of which Amer- 
ica can boast. 

Two things, also, you will find in this locality which 
can be no better than they look. One is the daybreak 
and sunrise from the sea, and the other is the exquisite 
sunset which lights land and ocean as the orb of day sinks 
out of sight to the west beneath the waves of the Chesa- 
peake. Not sunny Italy, with all her boasted wealth of 
color, can surpass the many-tinted loveliness of evening 
in the ancient Kingdom of Accawmacke, to which, for 
some years to come, my residence was now transferred. 



CHAPTER III 

OUR FOLKS IN GENERAL AND IN PARTICULAR 

Our folks have been in Old England since the days of 
Alfred, and in America since Thomas West, Lord de la 
War, was governor of the Virginia colony in 1608, when 
numerous brothers, cousins, and relatives followed him 
hither in search of the treasures of the still undiscovered 
South Sea. 

There and here, for centuries, in peace and in war, they 
have never failed to be mixed up in the thick of whatever 
game the English stock has played. 

They have lived and died in Devonshire and Somerset- 
shire for nearly ten centuries. Until its recent destruc- 
tion to make way for the government buildings, the old 
family nest at Plymouth was almost as well known to 
Englishmen as the banks of the Tamar itself. Burke 
tells us the name is among the oldest in England. 

The first American ancestor of our name was a younger 
son of these old Devonshire people, and came to the Vir- 
ginia colony in the reign of Charles the First. The an- 
cient shipping-lists show that he sailed from Gravesend, 
July 4, 1635, after first taking the oath of allegiance to 
king and church. He was a lad of eighteen, who, yield- 
ing to the spirit of adventure which then prevailed in 
England, joined his friends, the Scarburghs of Norfolk, 
in the Kingdom of Accawmacke. 

Two hundred and sixty years of separation ordinarily 
works considerable estrangement, and difference in char- 



24 THE END OF AN ERA 

acteristics, between the separated branches of a family. 
Not so with our people. If they possess one predominant 
trait, it is their faith in and attachment to anybody and 
everybody bearing the name, or springing from the old 
stock. But for the evidence it gives of stanchness in love 
and loyalty, the way in which the old ties are kept up, to 
this day, between the English and American branches 
would seem absurd. Descendants in the eighth degree 
since the separation recognize the kinship ; and the Eng- 
lish cousins welcome the Americans to hearth and home, 
taking no note of the two and a half centuries which have 
elapsed since the Amei'ican immigrant wandered o£E from 
his English home, and placed the Atlantic Ocean between 
himself and his family. 

And let me tell you, you boys of America, that there is 
no higher inspiration to any man to be a good man, a good 
citizen, and a good son, brother, or father, than the know- 
ledge that you come from honest blood. Few who have 
it scorn it, and many of those who are loudest in belittling 
it would give all they have to possess it. And, boys, let 
me tell you another thing. When you are hunting for 
that honest blood, when you are looking back into the 
wellsprings of your existence for the source of the virtue, 
the courage, the manhood, the truth, the honesty, the 
reverence, the family love, the simplicity of life, which 
will make you what true men ought to be, believe me, you 
are more apt to find it in the progenitors who came from 
" the right little, tight little island " than anywhere else 
on this rolling planet. 

Don't deceive yourselves with the notion that England 
did not furnish the best of us. We have had our trou- 
bles with her in the past, it is true. But it is hard for 
the mother to realize that her boy is grown, and accord 
him his rights as a man. She sometimes makes it very 



OUR FOLKS IN GENERAL AND IN PARTICULAR 25 

uncomfortable for him by failing to recognize that he is 
no longer in his swaddling-clothes. But there is not a 
true-hearted boy in the world who, in spite of his mo- 
ther's shortcomings, does not feel in his heart that there 
is no other like her. 

Don't take my word for it, if you think I am an old 
fogy. Wait until you grow up and see the world for 
yourselves. Travel through Kussia, or Turkey, or Austria, 
and you wiU never see a thing to stir your heart with a 
desire to be one of them. Stand in the shadow of the 
Pyramids, and you will be untouched by one wish that 
your blood were Egyptian. Go through Germany, and, 
while you will find there much to admire, there will still 
be something lacking. In the home of the fickle Gaul, 
even at Napoleon's tomb, the American boy is not in 
touch with his surroundings. Spain and Italy, while pos- 
sessed of a wealth of antique beauty, are to us only echoes 
of a decayed and different civilization. 

But, some sunny day in London, wander through West- 
minster Abbey and read the names. Some misty morning 
in Trafalgar Square, cast your eye upward to the form of 
Nelson, as he stands there in the fog, with the lions sleep- 
ing at the base of his column. In some leisure hour, visit 
the crypt of St. Paul's, where the car that bore Wellington 
to his rest still stands. Then, perhaps, you will appre- 
ciate the meaning of an old fogy when he tells you, 
" There 's nothing outside America which tugs at an 
American's heart-strings like the names and deeds and 
monuments of Old England." 

Don't let us deceive ourselves about it, either. Don't 
think or say that it is a better country than our own. 
Don't let us be Anglomaniaes., That is not at all neces- 
sary. America is good enough for us. In many things 
these blessed United States already .equal any nation on 



26 THE END OF AN ERA 

the globe. In almost everything, time considered, they 
are a marvel. Within the past seventy years, American 
inventive genius has contributed more to make life easy, 
and to advance civilization, than all the world beside in 
many hundred years, if we except the inventions of print- 
ing and gunpowder. In future we may, and probably 
shall, become in all things the greatest nation that ever 
existed. But it is not disloyalty to your own country, 
and no disparagement of its greatness, to thank God that 
the people from whom we sprang were Englishmen, and 
that we have part and lot in England's glory. 

In all America, there is no spot more emphatically Eng- 
lish than the Kingdom of Accawmacke. Nay, more : there 
is many a spot in England to-day where the manners and 
customs of the population have changed more from what 
they were in the seventeenth century, than those of that 
little peninsula in America. Of the twenty-five thousand 
white people in the two counties of the eastern shore of 
Virginia, it is safe to say that four fifths of them are de- 
scendants of the earliest English settlers, and that there 
has been less infusion of foreign element there within the 
last three centuries than in many parts of England itself. 
But a few years ago, this writer sat in the old church at 
Bishops Lydeard, Somersetshire, and looked over the 
congregation. The resemblance in appearance between 
the people assembled there and the congregations he had 
often seen in the Episcopal Church at Eastville, the first 
county seat of Accawmacke, and in the Bruton Parish 
Church at Williamsburg, was striking. 

The first John Wise married Hannah, eldest daughter 
of Captain Edmund Scarburgh. In 1655, we find him 
locating his grant from Governor Diggs on Nandua Creek, 
and in 1662, he was one of the first presiding justices of 
the newly formed county of Accawmacke. In this year. 



OUR FOLKS IN GENERAL AND IN PARTICULAR 27 

also, the Indian chief Ekeekes, for " seven Dutch blan- 
kets " sold him the two thousand acre tract on Chescones- 
seck, named " Clifton " by its new purchaser, — a tract of 
which the greater part descended without deed from father 
to son for six generations, until sold to pay the debts of 
the seventh heir, who was killed in 1864 in the American 
war between the States. 

John, eldest son of the emigrant, married a Matilda, 
daughter of Lieutenant-Colonel John West, and died in 
1717. Their son John married a Scarburgh, daughter 
of Colonel TuUy Robinson, and died in 1767. Their son 
John married a Margaret, daughter of Colonel George 
Douglas, and died in 1770. Their son John married first 
a Mary, daughter of Judge James Henry, and then a 
Sarah, daughter of General John Cropper, and died in 
1813 ; and their son Henry, a younger son, was my father. 
Related to a great number of the people of his county ; 
known to all ; honored and respected for his high charac- 
ter ; and beloved for his widely known talents and elo- 
quence, which had reflected honor upon the community, — 
father's return from Brazil to his home in Accomack was 
the occasion of great rejoicing and festivities upon the 
eastern shore. 

No more beautiful spot for a dwelling-place can be 
found anywhere than his home named "Only." It is 
located upon a bold estuary of the Chesapeake, called 
Onancock Creek, which comes down westwardly from its 
source, and, upon reaching Only, makes a graceful turn, 
first southward, then westward, then northward, and, 
curving like a horseshoe, incloses within its bend five 
acres of ground, with banks high above the stream and 
level as a table, on which stands a grove of noble oaks of 
the original growth. 

In the neck of the horseshoe, with the grove behind it 



28 THE END OF AN ERA 

and a fan-shaped lawn of greensward before it, stood the 
mansion house. It was not a stately structure. There 
are few such among the simple folk of this Peninsula. 
But it was a model of scrupulous neatness, every way fit 
for the residence of an unpretentious country gentleman, 
and, outside and inside, gave evidence of taste and refine- 
ment. On the eastern side of the lawn, a terraced garden 
ran down to the water's edge ; and about the porches, 
roses, cape jessamines, and honeysuckles climbed in great 
luxuriance. Adjoining the house were the kitchen and 
quarters of the household slaves, and outside the lawn, 
beyond the terraced garden, were the barns, carriage- 
houses, stables, and cattle-pens. Still further away were 
the quarters occupied by the plantation slaves. Looking 
upstream, other pretty points were visible, on which, in 
groves, the picturesque dwellings of the neighbors were 
seen ; and in the further distance was the village of 
Onancock, with its steeples, and sandy streets, and red- 
topped houses, and wharves swarming with boats of all 
sizes from the schooner to the skiff. Westward from 
Only, the stream courses broad and shining between slop- 
ing banks, on which, here and there, their greensward 
often coming down to the water's edge, stood other homes, 
which looked smaller and smaller in the distance. Far 
away, beyond a dim point of pines marking the mouth of 
Onancock Creek, the sparkling whitecaps of the bay are 
visible, with the sails of commerce passing up and down, 
or turning in and out of the entrance to the creek. 

On the beautiful November morning determined upon 
for welcoming my father on his return to the United 
States, relatives, neighbors, friends, clients, and political 
adherents began to assemble at Only. 

Bright and early, activity was visible on the plantation. 
Under the wide-spreading oaks, long tables were impro- 



OUR FOLKS IN GENERAL AND IN PARTICULAR 29 

vised, covered with snowy linen, and groaning with every- 
thing good to eat. At several points under the bluffs, pits 
were dug where beeves and sheep and pigs were bar- 
becued, and oysters and clams and crabs and fish were 
cooked by the bushel. Great hampers of food, sent from 
the village, or from the homes of neighbors, stood about 
the tables, ready for distribution when the feast should 
begin. The house itself, decorated with flowers and 
evergreens, was thrown wide open to the guests, and in 
the rooms of the first floor was spread a collation for the 
more distinguished visitors. 

By eight o'clock in the morning, the earliest of the 
guests hove in sight. By ten o'clock, the grandees of 
the county began to arrive. 

There were Colonel Joynes, the county clerk ; Lorenzo 
Bell, the county attorney ; the Arbuckles, the Custises ; 
the Finneys, the Waples; the Corbins from near the Mary- 
land line ; the Savages from Upshur's Neck ; the Crop- 
pers from Bowman's Folly on the seaside ; the Sneads 
from Mount Prospect ; the Upshurs from Brownsville ; 
the Baylys from Mount Custis ; and the Yerbys, the 
Nottinghams, the Goffigons, the Kennards, and Smiths, 
from Northampton. But why enumerate? Their name 
was legion. 

By midday the stables and stable-yards were filled ; 
and the horses, fastened to the front-yard fence, formed a 
continuous line ; while the creek about the grove was liter- 
ally filled with small craft ranging from canoe to "pungy," 
and a steamboat had arrived from Norfolk with a great 
company and a band of music. This band, playing in the 
grove, was an endless source of wonder and delight to 
many of the primitive peojjle, who heard a brass band 
that day for the first, and no doubt, in some instances, 
the last time in their lives. 



30 THE END OF AN ERA 

Within the house, father and mother held a long levee, 
welcoming old friends, and stirred to their hearts' depths 
by the simple ovation of which they were the recipients. 

Without, under the shade of the trees, hundreds of vis- 
itors, after paying their respects to the host and hostess, 
walked or sat about and chatted with each other. 

We may be sure that not the least theme of their con- 
versation was politics ; for not only was it in Virginia 
where everybody talked politics everywhere, but it was 
just at the period when Americans were carrying all 
before them in Mexico, and the Whigs were about to 
elect old " Rough-and-Ready," and snatch jjolitical con- 
trol from the Democracy. Nor was there lack of party 
differences among the assembled guests, to give spice to 
the discussions. Hot and heavy was the argument be- 
tween " Chatter Bill " Nottingham and " Monkey " John- 
son, as to which national party was entitled to the honors 
for the American triumph in the Mexican war. Every- 
body had his nickname in these days. 

Colonel Robert Poulson, the county representative in 
the legislature, had his group around hun, as, red in face 
and solemn of mien, he ventilated his views on the best 
method of protecting the Virginia oyster-beds from Mary- 
land poachers. Captain Stephen Hopkins, the largest 
vessel-owner of the county, had his admiring coterie, who 
insisted upon hearing his opinion, which he gave modestly, 
as to the prospect of a rise in the price of corn in the 
Baltimore market. Not far away, a noisy group of young- 
sters were bantering each other as to the respective merits 
of two saucy centreboard skiffs that rode proudly near 
the shore, and it was not long before a race between the 
Southerner and the Sea-GuU was a fixed event of the 
future. • 

As the day wore on, and when the multitude had been 



OUR FOLKS IN GENERAL AND IN PARTICULAR 31 

fed, a movement from the house to the grove indicated 
that something important was about to occur. The host 
and hostess and the distinguished guests moved out to an 
improvised platform under the oaks, and there began the 
formal ceremonies of welcome. 

Colonel Joynes, the venerable county clerk, as of course, 
called the gathering to order, when the stragglers had all 
drawn near. Then came the introduction of a young 
fellow from Hampton, afterwards somewhat known as a 
poet, who read an original poem lauding Virginia and 
her honored son. Then followed a brief address of wel- 
come from young Bell. And then father stood up, facing, 
for the first time after years of absence, the people among 
whom he was born ; the kin who had loved him from his 
infancy ; the constituency who had made his brilliant 
career possible ; the people who still had faith in him, 
and had come so far to do him honor. 

It was an impressive scene. Restraining himself, and 
laboring under the deep emotion such interest in himself 
was well calculated to arouse, he drew his audience to him 
with the simple speech which the skilled orator so well 
knows to be the most effective at the outset. Then, grad- 
ually warming up to his theme, he pictured the yearning 
of his heart for these old scenes during his long exile in 
foreign lands ; reviewed his work abroad in the interest 
of humanity ; his desire to see the infamous slave trade 
abolished ; his hope for some scheme by which the curse 
of slavery might ultimately be removed without wrong to 
the owner ; his realization of the glorious work accom- 
plished by the Union arms in Mexico during his absence ; 
his deep sense that, with restored health and the youth 
remaining to him, there was still much of his lifers work 
before him ; his gratitude to God for this restoration to 
his own people ; his deep emotion at this evidence of their 



32 THE END OF AN ERA , 

continued trust ; and his abiding faith in their further j 
confidence in him. He concluded with a brilliant and ' 
genuine tribute of affection for a constituency so true and | 
so confiding. His audience were wrought into a burst of 
thunderous applause, which was renewed and renewed as \ 
the band played, " Carry Me Back to Old Virginia." 

The formal ceremonies over, the visitors gradually dis- i 
persed, and quiet reigned once more at Only. 

It is the death of that era — a death which begun with 
my birth, and was complete before I attained manhood — ' 
that is to be chronicled in the following pages. ' 



CHAPTER IV 

MY MOTHER: FIRST LESSONS IN POLITICS 

The autumn of 1850 brought an event freighted with 
deep significance to me. My mother died. Although I 
was but four years old, it made a profound impression, 
and it exercised an incalculable influence upon my after 
life. My mother was a Northern woman, daughter of 
Hon. John Sergeant, a distinguished lawyer, and for 
many years representative in Congress from Philadel- 
phia. Her people were of New England blood, identi- 
fied with the earliest and most important events of the 
Plymouth Colony. 

She had been taught to practice economy, simplicity, 
and scrupulous neatness and order. She was deeply 
religious, charitable, sympathetic, highly sentimental, and 
withal ambitious. She was one of those beautiful, refined 
creatures for which the City of Brotherly Love is famous. 
Hers was one of those extraordinary natures whose physi- 
cal comeliness seems to make no injurious impression 
upon loveliness of character. Indeed, both in herself and 
with those about her, consideration of her appearance was 
subordinated to appreciation of her moral and intellectual 
beauty. 

It was seven years after her marriage before she fully 
realized the vast difference between the life in which she 
had been reared and that into which her marriage had 
brought her. For, prior to their departure for Brazil, 
father, being in Congress, had resided for the most part in 



34 THE END OF AN ERA 

Washington, and had no fixed establishment in Virginia. 
In Brazil, social conditions had been strange to herself 
and husband alike. It was only on my father's return 
from Brazil — when the Virginia establishment was re- 
sumed — that she realized the vastly altered terms of her 
existence. It is fortunate it was so. It gave time for her 
wifely love to become fixed and deepened beyond disturb- 
ance ; and residence in Brazil undoubtedly took away 
the shock of slavery as it existed at home. Coming now 
to a knowledge of Virginia slavery, it was much less re- 
pulsive than it would have been if she had been trans- 
planted direct from Philadelphia. Notwithstanding this 
gradual change, the contrast was strong enough to make 
her fully realize the difference between the duties and the 
pleasures of her new home and those to which she had 
been accustomed in girlhood. Of the society about her, 
she had nothing to complain. The good old people were 
of excellent social position, and Philadelphia was their 
social rendezvous. Many of them were acquaintances of 
her family. They were neighborly and congenial enough, 
and the means of intercommunication were excellent. 
One of lighter tastes, and less serious purpose and sense 
of duty, could easily have found, in her new surroundings, 
all the social enjoyment she desired, and might have been 
quite happy and free from care. 

But it was not so with the mistress of Only. She had 
too much of the old Puritan blood in her to ignore the 
word " duty." She adored her husband, and was as ambi- 
tious as himself, which is saying a great deal. She knew 
that, if he was to maintain his professional and political 
prominence, she must assume her share of the duties of 
their domestic life ; and when she fully realized what that 
meant for her, she doubted her ability to bear the burden 
it imposed; but, asking God to sustain her, resolved to try. 



MY MOTHER 35 

With the abundance of servants at her command, the 
care of her children was a task comparatively easy. But 
it was these very servants who were the chief cause of 
her anxieties. They were slaves. When she had con- 
sented to marry her husband, she had not fully consid- 
ered, perhaps, the difference between conducting a Phi- 
ladelphia household and being mistress of a Virginia 
plantation. At the former place, an impudent or sick or 
worthless servant might be discharged or sent to a hospi- 
tal, and the place supplied by another. Here, a discharge 
was impossible. Beside the necessity for discipline, every 
requirement, whether of food or clothing, or care in sick- 
ness, had to be supplied to these forty servants, who were 
as dependent as so many babies. In those days, slavery 
was not looked upon, even in Quaker Philadelphia, with 
the shudder and abhorrence one feels towards it now. It 
had not been a great while since it existed in Pennsyl- 
vania. A few slaves were still owned in Delaware, and 
Maryland and Virginia were slave States. The time had 
come, it is true, when it was abolished in Pennsylvania ; 
but its existence was a fact so familiar that it produced 
no particular protest or expression of abhorrence, and, by 
all save a small coterie of abolitionists, was regarded as 
probably permanent. Slave-owners mingled with non- 
slave-owners upon terms of mutual regard and respect, 
unaffected, apparently at least, by any consideration of 
the subject of slavery. 

Even if my mother had no qualms of conscience con- 
cerning ownership of negroes, her sense of duty carried 
her far beyond the mere supplying of their physical needs, « 
or requiring that they render faithful service. Forty im- 
mortal souls, as she viewed it, had been committed to her 
guidance. Every time one of these gentle and affection- 
ate creatures called her " mistress," the sense of obliga- 



36 THE END OF AN ERA i 

tion resting upon her, to keep their souls as well as their . 
bodies fit for God, echoed back to her tender heart with ' 
alarming distinctness. And in time, sweetly and humbly j 
as she performed her task, it became very irksome. She 
sleeps to-day in Laurel Hill, on the banks of the Schuyl- j 
kill, having died at the early age of thirty-three, and no , 
one knows how much that sense of duty to her slaves ( 
contributed to her death. 

Ah, you who blame the slaveholder of the olden day, j 
how little you know whereof you speak, or how he or she j 
became such ; how little allowance you make for surround- ^ 
ing circumstances ; how little you reck, in your general i 
anathemas against the slave-owner, of the true and beauti- . 
ful and good lives that sacrificed themselves, toiling to do . 
their duty to the slaves in that state of life to which it 
pleased God to call them ! There is not a graveyard in 
Old Virginia but has some tombstone marking the resting- • 
place of somebody who accepted slavery as he or she 
found it, who bore it as a duty and a burden, and who 
wore himself or herself out in the conscientious effort to 
perform that duty well. Mark you, I am not bemoaning 
the abolition of slavery. It was a curse, and nobody 
knows better than I the terrible abuses which were pos- 
sible and actual under the system. Thank God, it is 
gone. 

All that I am saying to you now is, you who fought 
slavery, as well as you who have heard it described in the 
passionate denunciations following its death, realize that 
the name of slave-owner did not always, or even in the 
majority of cases, imply that the slave-owner was one whit 
less conscientious, one whit less humane, one whit less 
religious, or one whit less entitled to man's respect or 
God's love, than you, who, because, perhaps, you were 
never slave-owners, delight to picture them as something 



MY MOTHER 37 

inferior to your precious selves. After all, it was not 
you, but God that abolished slavery. You were his mere 
instruments to do his work. 

In the case of my mother, her task was somewhat light- 
ened by the character of her possessions, for the slaves 
were of more than usual intelligence, and were, for the 
most part, family inheritances. 

This was no abode of hardship and stony hearts. No 
slaves were sold from that plantation. The young ones 
might have eaten their master's head off before he would 
have taken money for their fathers' and their mothers' 
children. No overseer brandished the whip that is so 
prominent a feature upon the stage, or in the abolition 
books of fiction. 

Back to me, through the mists of nearly half a century, 
comes once more the vision of the young Puritan mother, 
who followed the man she loved into this exile from 
every association of her youth, and yet was happy in that 
love because she worshiped him next to her God. 

Now I see her upon a Sabbath afternoon, with all her 
slaves assembled in the hallway, dressed in their Sunday 
clothes. Young and old, her own children and her ser' 
vants, are gathered about her to listen to the word of 
God. 

I have heard many great orators and preachers in my 
day, but never a voice like that of my mother, as she read 
and expounded the Holy Word to her children and her 
slaves. 

In later years, I have heard great voices and great mel- 
odies, but never sweeter sounds to mortal ear than those 
of my mother and her children and her slaves, singing the 
simple hymns she read out to them on those Sabbath after- 
noons at Only, in the days of slavery. 

Then came the lessons in the catechism taught to chil- 



38 THE END OF AN ERA 

dren and slaves in the same class, where, before God, the 
two stood upon equal terms, the blacks sometimes proving 
themselves to be the quicker scholars of the two. 

Such was my childhood's home ; and such was many 
another home in that land which, year by year, is being 
more and more depicted by ignorance and prejudice 
as the abode of only the brutal slave-driver and his 
victim. 

The beautiful month of October, 1850, with its wealth 
of color and its exquisite skies, rolled round. All seemed 
well at home. My father, once more immersed in politi- 
cal life, was absent in Richmond, a delegate to a great 
constitutional convention, where all his energies were 
directed towards adjusting the true basis of representation 
in the legislature between the sections of Virginia where 
slavery existed and those where no slaves were owned. 
It was a difficult question, on which he had taken ground 
in favor of a manhood suffrage as opposed to suffrage 
based upon representation of the property owners. Nearly 
every mail brought letters to mother announcing the pro- 
gress of the fight, in which she seemed deeply absorbed. 
The reputation which her husband was making resulted 
five years later in his election as governor, and she clearly 
foresaw that result. This prospect reconciled her to the 
separation, and made her look bravely forward to an 
expected event. 

One day I missed my mother, and was told that she 
was ill. Servants were hurrying back and forth, and 
soon the doctor arrived. Bedtime came, and Eliza, the 
white nurse, took me away from the nursery adjoining 
my mother's chamber, and put me to bed in a strange 
room. There, after undressing me, she made me kneel, 
and, in saying my prayers, ask God to bless mamma. 
When I was tucked away in bed, she sat beside me, and 



MY MOTHER 39 

stroked my long tresses, and sighed. It was all very 
strange. " Mammy Liza, is mamma very sick ? " I asked. 
" No, my child, I hope not," said she, and then bade me 
go to sleep, and soon I closed my eyes. 

It was not for long, for in an hour or two I heard 
voices in the hall, and hurrying footsteps, and, awakening 
and sitting bolt upright in bed awhile, 1 finally slipped 
down to the floor, and made my way, in my thin night- 
clothes, into the hall, where I found the servants assem- 
bled, and weeping as if their hearts would break, uttering 
loud lamentations. " What is it, Aunt Mary Anne ? " 
said I, cold, and shivering with fright. " Oh, my po' 
baby, yo' mamma is dead, — yo' mamma is dead ! Oh, 
my po', po' mistis is dead — dead — dead ! " she screamed, 
at the same time seizing me, and wrapping me in her 
shawl, and bearing me back to the warmth. 

Night wore away mournfully enough, until at last, with 
a faithful slave beside me, I sobbed myself asleep, cry- 
ing more because others about me wept, than because I 
knew the real cause for my grief. Morning came, and 
when I awoke, I coidd not yet fully understand the solemn 
silence of all about me, or the meaning of the strange 
black things I saw. Breakfast over, the old nurse came 
to me to go with her and see mamma. In silence, and amid 
the sobs of every servant on the place, I and my little bro- 
ther and sister were led into a darkened room. There, 
on the bamboo bedstead which she had brought as her 
favorite from Rio, lay mamma, apparently asleep, a tiny 
baby resting on her breast. By her side, his head buried 
in the pillow, and sobbing as if his heart would break, was 
my oldest brother, — not her own child, but one who had 
loved her as his own mother, and who now mourned a 
second mother dead. Gazing out of the half -opened win- 
dow, dressed in solemn black, stood the physician who had 



40 THE END OF AN ERA 

sought in vain to save her. I was frightened and awed 
beyond utterance. 

The next day the Fashion, Captain Hopkins's best 
vessel, lay to at the Only lauding. A fearful-looking 
black box covered with velvet was borne aboard the 
Planter with solemn steps. Her sails were hoisted. With 
the freshening breeze she bore away, and, as the even- 
ing sunlight made a shining pathway on Onancock Creek, 
the vessel pursued her course westward until she became 
a tiny speck and disappeared. They told me that my 
mother was in heaven. Since that day, whenever the 
route to heaven arises to my mind, I see the white sails of 
a vessel gliding westward in the golden pathway made 
upon dancing waters by the brilliant sinking sun of a 
clear autumn evening. 

The home-coming of father, some weeks after this sad 
event, was pitiful indeed. 

He had been advised of my mother's death by a mes- 
senger, who rode forty miles down the Peninsula, crossed 
the bay to Norfolk, and thence telegraphed to Richmond. 
Such were the difficulties of communication, even at that 
recent date. When the news first reached him, the body 
was on its way to Baltimore, and thither he repaired to 
meet it, and accompany it to its last resting-place. After 
this, he had been compelled to return to his duties in the 
convention at Richmond, a widowed relative having mean- 
while assumed charge of his family, and holding them 
together until he could return. 

In the darkness of a drizzling winter evening, after 
a long, cheerless ride, he drew near his desolate home. 
A chill nor'easter storm, which had lasted for two days, 
made the passage across the Chesapeake, in the stuffy 
little steamboat Monmouth, exceedingly disagreeable. 
The few friends he met at the wharf expressed their sym- 



MY MOTHER 41 

pathy more by subdued speech and close grasp of the 
hand than in actual utterance. A storm-stained gunner, 
clad in oilcloth, who had just made his landing from his 
goose-blind to ship his game to market, came uj) to the 
carriage and handed in, as tribute of his interest, a beauti- 
ful brace of brant. As he shook the rain from his tar- 
paulin, remarking that it was a great day for shooting, he 
uttered no word of consolation ; but his manner and his 
act were as delicately suggestive of his reasons as if he 
had been bred to the manners of a court. 

Although the vehicle sent for father was amply sup- 
plied with curtains, aprons, and robes, the rain beat in 
upon him as he drove facing the storm, its cool moisture 
not ungrateful to his fevered cheek. Ordinarily, the 
homeward ride on such occasions was relieved by cheerful 
conversation between master and man concerning domestic 
matters and the progress of farm work. To-night, the 
weeds of mourning and the sunken cheek and eye had 
awed the faithful slave into respectful silence, which the 
master seldom saw fit to break. Homeward they sped in 
silence, with little to vary the monotonous pitapat of 
Lady Ringtail's hoofs in the shallow pools with which the 
storm had filled the level roads. 

He lay back with folded arms and half-closed eyes, 
resentfully brooding upon the hard fate which had twice 
made him a widower. At a turn of the road they passed 
a silver maple, whose faultless form and beautiful coloring 
in springtime and in autumn had so excited the admira- 
tion of his wife that the children had named it " mamma's 
tree." It was leafless and bare to-night. A scurrying 
blast, shaking it as they passed, blew down from it a 
shower of raindrops, as if in mockery. 

At the outer farm-gate the driver alighted, and, as 
father walked the mare slowly through the open gate, he 



42 THE END OF AN ERA 

caught sight of the twinkling light which shone from the 
chamber whei'e mothei* had died. It had ever been a 
beacon to him in days gone by. There, many a day, had 
she sat and watched for his return ; and many a night 
had she drawn back the curtain that he might see her 
signal first of all. The sight of it had always warmed 
his heart. Now, he almost shuddered at the thought of 
returning home. As they entered the yard, and drove 
around the circle leading to the doorstep, he turned his 
face away from her terraced garden, only to look upon 
the arbor, where, in days gone by, she had delighted to 
sit and watch the sunsets. 

Before the vehicle drew up at the door, news of the 
father's and the master's arrival had spread through all 
of the household. Wide open flew the doors, and down 
the steps, bareheaded and heedless of rain or wind, we 
children rushed, shouting " Papa — papa — j)apa ! " and 
springing into his arms with rapturous kisses. One by 
one we were snatched and hugged and kissed, and pushed 
backwards up the steps, with orders to run in out of the 
rain, while he busied himself for a moment giving direc- 
tions concerning his luggage and the care of Lady Ring- 
tail. 

Poor little ones ! How insensible they were to the great 
calamity that had befallen them ! How little they real- 
ized his loss or their own ! In the short weeks since our 
mother's death, — weeks filled with deep affliction to him, 
— our mourning-clothes had become familiar to us ; our 
kind old aunt had taken mother's place in all our thoughts 
and. for all our wants ; our mamma was only a beautiful 
vision of the past. We laughed and romped, and greeted 
papa with joyous faces ; unconscious alike that we had 
cause for sorrow, or that his heart was bleeding afresh at 
sight of us. 



MY MOTHER 43 

The welcome awaiting him within was different from 
the joyous babble of the little ones outside. There, almost 
dreading to meet him, was the half-grown daughter of his 
first marriage. She was old enough to know and feel 
what a deep, irreparable loss had come upon her just when 
she most needed the love and care and guidance of the 
one now dead. It was not, and yet it was, her own mo- 
ther that had died. And there was the tender-hearted 
woman who had come to keep together his little flock 
until his return. She had truly loved his wife, and now, 
herself a widow, she had seen him twice bereft. 

As these two twined their arms about him, and buried 
their faces ujDon his shoulder sobbing, the prattling mo- 
therless children paused in their merriment to wonder 
why their grief should give itself new vent upon an occa- 
sion so joyous as papa's return. 

But let us not dwell longer upon a scene so mournful. 

Before leaving Richmond, father had written home 
directing that a chamber should be prepared for himself 
as far as possible from his former apartment. He could 
not brook the thought of living surrounded by the famil- 
iar objects of her chamber. Although he had been much 
absent of late, and much engrossed in other ambitions, he 
was a man devoted to his family, and deeply interested in 
his home. He knew, whenever he reflected upon the facts, 
that his apparent neglect of these duties of late was be- 
cause of political objects he could not abandon, and that 
his course had been taken with his wife's approval ; but 
ever and anon the thought came back to him that she had 
been alone when she died, and, in spite of all philosophy, 
the memory of that lonely death distressed if it did not 
actually chide him. He determined that, even at the 
sacrifice of ambition, he would henceforth devote himself 
to the duties he owed to his children and his home, and 



44 THE END OF AN ERA 

make to her memory the atonement for what he could not 
help regarding as neglect of her when she lived. 

To this resolution I was indebted for four or five of the 
very happiest years of my life. To this day, my fancy 
takes me back to that great chamber where father made 
me his bedfellow and constant companion ; to that high 
tester bedstead where, many a night, tucked away amid 
comfortable linen, I watched the great hickory logs flicker 
and sputter upon the andirons, and closed my eyes, at 
last, lulled by the never-ceasing scratching of father's 
goose-quill pen at a great writing-table in the centre of 
the room ; to the delightful half-consciousness of being 
folded in his arms when, late in the night, he joined me, 
and hugged me to his heart. 

We were early risers, we two chums and companions. 
By daybreak, the servant came in and built a roaring fire. 
By sunrise, father and I were dressed, and out upon the 
farm, or at the stables or the cowpens, followed by Boxer 
and Frolic, our Irish terriers. The fashionable folk of 
to-day affect the Irish terrier, and imagine that they have 
a new breed. Father had a brace of them over forty 
years ago, and they were sure death to the rabbits of 
Only. Many and many a day we came back to breakfast 
with one, two, or three molly-cottontails caught by Boxer 
and Frolic in our morning excursions upon the farm. 

Then there was hog-killing time, when, long before day, 
the whole plantation force was up with knives for killing, 
and seething cauldrons for scalding, and great doors for 
scraping, and long racks for cooling the slaughtered 
swine. Out to the farmyard rallied all the farm hands. 
Into the pens dashed the boldest and most active. Har- 
rowing was the squealing of the victims ; quick was the 
stroke that slew them, and quicker the sousing of the 
dead hog into the scalding water ; busy the scraping of 



FIRST LESSONS IN POLITICS 45 

his hair away ; strong the arms that bore him to the beams, 
and hung him there head downward to cool ; ckimsy the 
old woman who brought tubs to place under him ; deft 
the strong hands that disemboweled him. And so it went. 
By the time the sun was risen, how bare and silent were 
the pens where hogdom had fed and grunted for so long 
a time ! 

How marvelous to youthful eyes the long rows of clean- 
scraped hogs upon the racks ; how cheerful the blazing- 
fires and boiling pots, and how sweet the smell of the 
hickory smoking in the cold air of daybreak ; how merry 
and how happy seemed every one upon the place, old and 
young, men and women, girls and boys, in the midst of 
this carnival of death and grease ! Up with the earliest, 
I was one of the busiest men in all the company, — now 
frying a pig-tail upon the blazing coals beneath the scald- 
ing-pots ; now claiming a bladder to be blown up for 
Christmas ; now watching the wonderful process of cleans- 
ing, or lard-making, or sausage-grinding. My ! what ten- 
derloins and spare-ribs were on the breakfast-table ! my ! 
how, for a fortnight after hog-killing, what sausages and 
cracklin, and all sorts of meat, we had ! The skin of 
every darkey on the place shone with hog's grease, like 
polished ebony ; and even Boxer and Frolic grew so fat 
they lost their interest in rabbit-hunting. 

Then came the lovely springtime, when the ploughing 
began, and I followed him about the farm until my poor 
little legs were ready to give way beneath me. And the 
great red-breasted robins and purple grackle lit in the 
new-ploughed ground, from which such sweet aroma rose. 
And the golden plover, sweeping past, fell to father's 
unerring gun, I scrambling after them through the crum- 
bling loam. 

Then followed the harvest time, when birds'-nests and 



46 THE END OF AN ERA 

young hares were in the stubble, and when the children 
rode upon the straw-loads. And the summer days, when 
father took me sailing in the Lucy Long, and sea-trout 
fishing at the lighthouse, or built and rigged and sailed 
for me such boats as no other boy ever had ! 

After that came the autumn time, when my uncle, a 
famous Nimrod, appeared with dog and gun, and taught 
me the mysteries of quail-shooting, so that I could tell 
how Blanco the setter stood, and how Bembo the pointer 
backed, and how Shot retrieved, and talked about these 
things like a veteran sjiortsman. 

And there, also, was our annual visit, in charge of 
Eliza, the white nurse, to our grandmother in far-off Phil- 
adelphia. This was the period of good behavior and 
restraint, neither of which I always practiced ; and, as I 
viewed it, it bore hard upon my other engagements. A 
short city residence was not altogether distasteful to me ; 
but there were so many horses to ride, and so many boats 
to sail, and so many dogs to work, and so many fish to 
catch, and so many things to do at Only, that I looked on 
the Philadelphia trip as time wasted from more entran- 
cing employments. I felt that I was growing rapidly, 
and that there were a great many things which I might 
grow past, if I did not keep going all the while ; and thus 
it was that at seven years old I was regarded as what we 
call an enterprising youth. 

Nor was I too young to detect that there were marked 
differences between methods of life and thought at home, 
and those which prevailed in Philadelphia. 

My mother's family, especially the dear old grand- 
mother, to whom my mother's death had been a great 
blow, were exceedingly kind, and did everything to make 
the visits enjoyable ; but there was a something in their 
treatment of us little orphans which approached to pat- 



FIRST LESSONS IN POLITICS 47 

ronizing, and, young as I was, my pride rebelled against 
the idea that any one could condescend towards us. 

One day, when I heard an aunt refer to me as her " lit- 
tle savage," I grew furiously angry; and another day, 
when the white servant referred to me as a slave-owner, I 
let her understand that I did not own a slave who was 
not her superior in every quality, good manners and 
good looks included. These were only episodes in what 
were otherwise, on the whole, very happy visits; but, 
young as I was, I early learned that between the people 
of my father's and my mother's home there was brewing 
a feeling of deep and irreconcilable antagonism, the pre- 
cise nature of which I could not altogether comprehend. 

As early as the autumn of 1852, 1 was made very happy 
by being sent to school. As was the case in almost every 
section of the South, the village school-teacher at Onan- 
cock was a Northern man. My brother Richard, three 
years older than myself, was my companion. We were 
furnished with red-topped boots, red neckerchiefs, warm 
overcoats, warm caps with coverings for the ears, and tin 
luncheon-pails, and never were we more elated than on our 
first triumphal march to Onancock, a mile away. As we 
passed the farmyards and the fields where our old friends 
the slaves were at work, many were the cheery words 
spoken to us. 

" Dat 's right," said saucy Solomon ; " I spec' you '11 be 
as big u man as Mars' Henry hisself when you is done 
school." 

" You 'd better not pass through Mr. Tyler's yard. 
He 's got a pow'ful fierce dog," shouted Joshua. 

And the last thing said by old George Douglas, who 
was something of a tease, was, " Don't you let none of 
them Onancock boys lick you, for you comes of fightin' 
stock." 



48 THE END OF AN ERA 

Thus began our education, and a good beginning it 
was ; for we were blessed with a conscientious teacher, a ' 
school at a healthy distance, and at once entered the class 
with a red-headed girl, clever as she could be, with whom 
I fell in love, and who put me to my trumps every day to 
keep her from " cutting me down " in the spelling-class. 

Thus passed away the happy days of childhood, — days 
unlike those which come to any boy anywhere nowadays ; 
days belonging to a phase of civilization and a manner of 
life which are as extinct as if they had never existed. 

Yet in those times, but nine years before war and 
emancipation came, there was no thought that either was 
near at hand. My brother and I, on our return from 
school, were put across the creek at Onancock wharf. 
One sunny evening, we found father at old Captain Hop- 
kins's store at the wharf, the spot where the village post- 
office was kept. He had been rowed uj) to the village in 
his yawl, the Constitution, and was waiting to take us 
home with him. The mail had just arrived, and an eager 
throng was listening to the news of the presidential elec- 
tion. The old captain read the returns, which told that 
Franklin Pierce was to be the next President, and the 
crowd cheered vociferously. Father was called upon for 
a speech, and briefly expressed his gratification at the re- 
sult. The thing which most struck my ear was father's 
cong-ratulation of his friends that the election of Pierce 
set at rest all fears as to slavery and secession, or concern- 
ing the abolitionists. He told how Pierce, being a North- 
ern man, must prove acceptable to the North ; and how, 
being sound upon the slavery question, his administration 
would allay the fears of the slave-owner, and quiet the 
threats of secessionists. Everybody agreed that this was 
so, and everybody hurrahed for Pierce and King ; and, as 
the Constitution rushed homeward on the placid waters, 



FIRST LESSONS IN POLITICS 49 

under the strokes of two sable oarsmen, I puzzled myself 
to guess what were the fears of the slaveholder, and what 
were the threats of the secessionist, and who were the 
abolitionists. 

Now, I was a young gentleman who, when athirst for 
knowledge, held not back. Accordingly, I opened my 
inquiries in a series of questions, and received answers 
much after the following order : — 

" What are the fears of the slaveholder ? " 

" Why, my son, there is a small number of fanatics in 
the North who demand that slavery be abolished immedi- 
ately, and the slaveholders are apprehensive of them." 

" What is a fanatic, and what is an abolitionist ? " 

" A fanatic is a wild enthusiast, who will listen to no- 
thing which interferes with his demands ; and an abo- 
litionist is one who demands that the slaves shall be 
freed." 

" Are there many people of that kind in the North ? " 

" Yes ; more than we know about." 

" Is Pierce that sort of man ? " 

" Oh, no. He is not in favor of freeing the slsives." 

" Well, now I know what the slaveholder fears, tell me 
next what is the threat of the secessionist." 

" Young man, you listen too closely. Secession means 
that a State, like our Virginia, being dissatisfied with the 
way the Union is managed, would withdraw from the 
Union, and establish an independent government of her 
own, or form a new one with other States which withdrew 
with her. Secessionists are men who threaten to do 
that." 

I paused a minute, and thought over all this ; then, 
looking up, said : — 

" Well, if we secede, we shall not be the United States 
any more, shall we ? " 



50 THE END OF AN ERA 

" No." 

" And if we shall not be the United States any more, 
we shall not have the stars and stripes for our flag, and 
the Old Constitution and the Columbia frigates won't 
belong to us any more, will they ? " 

" No, not if we secede." 

" Well, now, papa, don't let 's secede. No, sir ; don't 
let 's secede. You are not for secession, are you, papa ? 
Think of what a horrible thing it would be to give up the 
government grandpa and General Washington made, and 
the flag, and the ships, and all that, and start another 
thing all new, without any history or anything. You are 
not a secessionist, I know, because you said you were not. 
Are you, papa ? " 

" No, no, my boy. Far from it. Nobody loves the 
Union better than I do. Nobody has better cause to love 
and honor and cherish it. I was reared in the home of a 
grandfather who fought for it by the side of Washington ; 
I was taught from my earliest infancy to venerate the 
flag of the Union. My manhood, at home and abroad, 
has been dedicated to its service ; and God grant that 
the Union may never be rent asunder in my day by the 
fanaticism of the North or the passion of the South. 
Heaven be praised, the electioil of Mr. Pierce seems to 
put at rest all fears on that score from any direction." 

We were nearing the landing. The autumn sun had 
sunk into the distant bay. The long shadows of the 
grove at Only were thrown towards us across the pooly 
waters. Earth, air, and sky were bathed in the glories 
of an Italian sunset, as these fervid words fell from 
father's lips ; and never in all his life had he spoken 
more eloquently or more truly. What he had said 
soothed and comforted me, to whom the thought of the 
possibility that Virginia could be aught but part of the 



i 



FIRST LESSONS IN POLITICS 51 

American Union, or that we might lose the American 
flag, had never come before. 

Thus it was that I learned my first lesson in politics, 
and was well and firmly assured that that could not 
possibly happen which did actually happen within the 
next nine years. 



CHAPTER V 

THE KNOW-NOTHING CAMPAIGN AND LIFE IN RICHMOND 

During the next three years, we had things pretty 
much our own way at home, as far as female control was 
concerned. The dear old aunt who presided over father's 
household, although we loved her very much, was too in- 
dulgent to be a successful manager of children ; and while 
Eliza, the Irish nurse, was firm and strong enough, we 
were rapidly growing beyond her control. 

Then there was my aunt's son, a most attractive fellow, 
just entering upon manhood, — a thorough-paced child- 
spoiler. It was no uncommon thing for him to take me 
to the county seat, or the neighboring villages, where, 
while he pursued his amusements, I found companions 
and playmates that were improving neither to manners 
nor ideals of life. The association was delightful, never- 
theless. On these excursions, there was no whim of fancy 
which that partial young relative was not more than ready 
to gratify. Our attachment was lifelong, and in after 
years the deep and abiding interest of my old-bachelor 
cousin in all that concerned me never abated until he died. 
At home, I had a thousand things to make boyhood happy. 
With the grown-up slaves I was a great favorite ; and, as 
was often the case in plantation life, the little darkeys 
near my own age were my playmates and companions, and 
accepted me as their natural leader and chief. By the 
time I was eight years old, I could shoot, and ride, and 
fish, and swim, and sail a boat ; I had a yoke of yearling 



THE KNOW-NOTHING CAMPAIGN 53 

oxen broken by myself ; my own punt in which to go fish- 
ing ; fishing-lines and crab-nets ; a dog and a colt ; and 
had become a breeder of most prolific chickens. Nothing 
pleased me more than dropping corn in planting-time, or 
hauling wood and straw with my own team. For months 
at a time I would go barefoot, during the summer season, 
dressed in brown linen and a straw hat. All this laid in a 
store of health and strength that was of great value in 
after years. In truth, I was a most bustling, energetic lad, 
with no end of vitality, but lacked the parental govern- 
ment and care of a mother ; and it was a blessed day for 
me when my father married again. 

My father's third wife was a refined and cultivated 
woman, of suitable age, and possessed a most lovable dis- 
position. It was not long before she established her 
dominion in our household, — a dominion of love. 

I was taught to observe meal-times ; to appear with 
hair brushed and face and hands washed ; to attend fam- 
ily prayers ; to spend less time at the negro quarters ; to 
account more precisely for my nomadic wanderings ; to 
devote regular hours to studies ; and in many ways 
to adopt much more orderly methods than I had been 
accustomed to pursue of late. All which came in good 
time, for I was soon to become a city boy. 

In 1855, a great political contest occurred in Virginia. 
A faction known as the Know-Nothing party, or the 
American party, had sprung up suddenly, and had tri- 
umphed in a number of the Northern States. It was a 
secret organization, with oaths and grips and passwords. 
Its rallying cry was that Americans should rule America. 
Incidental to this watchword was a real or fancied hostil- 
ity to foreigners, particularly the Irish, and to the Catholic 
Church. Until it reached Virginia, it had been success- 
ful everywhere. Father believed in the teachings of 



64 THE END OF AN ERA 

George Washington that secret political organizations \ 
were dangerous to republican liberty, and in the teachings ' 
of Thomas Jefferson that no man should be proscribed on i 
account of his religion. He maintained that neither Irish- 
men nor other foreigners should be oppressed or ostracized \ 
by reason of their religious faith or their nationality. '' 

The result of the approaching conflict seemed exceed- i 
ingiy doubtful when he was chosen as the Democratic ; 
candidate for governor of Virginia. The circumstances • 
of his selection were not altogether flattering or hopeful. ' 
Many of his political associates preferred him as the man 
in their opinion best fitted to make the desperate fight, ' 
but there were others who preferred him because they 
believed the struggle was hopeless and secretly desired 
his defeat. He accepted the nomination ; and although, 
at the outset, the Know-Nothing party had an enrolled 
majority of ten thousand of the entire voters of the State, 
he entered upon one of the most remarkable campaigns 
in Virginia politics, and after a brilliant canvass was 
elected by ten thousand majority. 

It is seldom a boy nine years old is deeply interested 
in politics, but this campaign was one that enlisted the 
intense enthusiasm of young and old. 

In American politics, we have recurring periods of po- 
litical " crazes." Of late years we have witnessed several 
such. The Greenback craze, the Granger craze, the 
Silver craze, have each in its turn arisen, and, for the 
time being, made whole communities drunk with excite- 
ment. Friends of many years are estranged by these 
ephemeral issues. They are carried into business, into 
church, into the household, everywhere, until entire com- 
monwealths are so wrought up that even women and chil- 
dren take part until election day, and after that we hear 
no more about them. Such commotions are like brush- 



THE KNOW-NOTHING CAMPAIGN 55 

fires, which, igniting instantly, burn and crackle and fill 
the whole heavens with smoke, as if the world was on fire, 
and then die out as suddenly as they sprung up. 

The Know-Nothing craze of 1855 was just such an excite- 
ment. Our community was divided into factions. Every- 
body took sides. Men who had never been known to show 
an active interest in politics became intense partisans, and 
political discussion went on everywhere. One of the first 
results experienced by me was a black eye and a bloody 
nose, received in a hard fight with the son of the village 
blacksmith. Exactly how the row began, neither of us 
could clearly explain ; but we were on opposite sides, and 
that was sufficient. It was a drawn battle, for the black- 
smith interfered, having no intention of losing a valuable 
trade by reason of political differences. In the little vil- 
lage of Onancock, the rival organizations found vent for 
their enthusiasm by building and flying two immense 
kites, with the names of their respective party candidates 
emblazoned on them conspicuously. Many an evening, 
after school was dismissed, I saw half of the villagers of 
the place out on the green flying their Know-Nothing and 
Democratic kites, as if the result depended upon which 
flew the highest. 

In due course came election day. Father being absent, 
the young cousin above referred to represented him at 
the polling-place, and took me with him. In those days, 
voting was done openly, or viva voce, as it was called, and 
not by ballot. The election judges, who were magistrates, 
sat upon a bench with their clerks before them. Where 
practicable, it was customary for the candidate to be pre- 
sent in person, and to occupy a seat at the side of the 
judges. As the voter appeared, his name was called out 
in a loud voice. The judges inquired, " John Jones (or 
Bill Smith), for whom do you vote ? " — for governor, or 



56 THE END OF AN ERA 

for whatever was the office to be filled. He replied by 
proclaiming the name of his favorite. Then the clerks 
enrolled the vote, and the judges announced it as enrolled. 
The representative of the candidate for whom he voted 
arose, bowed, and thanked him aloud ; and his partisans 
often applauded. 

All day long I sat upon my cousin's knee, or played 
about the platform. Nobody smiled more broadly, or 
applauded more vigorously, at votes cast for father ; and 
nobody was more silent or haughty when votes were cast 
against him. At sundown, the jjolls were closed, and, to 
my infinite mortification, the majority at the precinct was 
announced as in favor of the Kuow-Nothings. The craze 
had simply taken possession of the place and run away 
with it. The ignorant and the vain had all been captured 
by the signs and grips and secret passwords of Know- 
Nothingism. For the first time in his life, father was 
defeated at his home. I thought we were done for. 
When we were safely bundled in the vehicle, and headed 
for home, I felt like crying, and the Know-Nothing cheers 
still rung in my ears most depressingly. What mortified 
me most of all was the fact that I knew of a bantering 
compact between the owners of the rival kites that the vic- 
torious party should own the kite of the vanquished, with 
the privilege of flying it tailless and upside down. The 
thought of seeing our beloved kite in such ignominious 
plight nearly prostrated me. As a matter of fact, the 
result at this precinct had been fully anticipated by the 
grown folks, and gave them no serious concern as to 
the general result. The Know-Nothing majority was 
really less than they had claimed. Seeing how I was 
cast down, my cousin, holding me between his legs in the 
one-seated buggy, endeavored to explain that there was no 
cause for alarm. Long before he finished, he discovered 



THE KNOW-NOTHING CAMPAIGN 57 

that, worn out by the fatigue and disappointment of the 
day, I was fast asleep, and in that condition he bore me 
into the house in his arms, laid me on the broad settee in 
the hall, and covered me with the lap-robe. 

More cheering news from other places came thick and 
fast in the next few days, and it was not long before I 
was delightedly watching the Know-Nothing kite sailed 
tailless and upside down by father's friends. 

Then came the preparations for removal of our resi- 
dence to Richmond for four years. 

No life could have been more in contrast with that at 
Only than the one to which I was now introduced. Janu- 
ary 1, 1856, father took the oath of office as governor, 
and we proceeded to establish ourselves in the Govern- 
ment House, as it was called. 

It is a fine old structure, simple in exterior, very capa- 
cious, surrounded by pleasant grounds, fronting the Capi- 
tol Square at Richmond. The house at Only seemed like 
a wren-box contrasted with this great residence. With 
play-grounds, and stables, and conservatory, and out- 
houses, it was indeed a most attractive place. Young 
gentlemen nine years of age are not apt to underestimate 
their own importance in such a situation, and I was no 
exception to this rule. The legislature was in session in 
the Capitol, and as a large majority of the members were 
in political sympathy with father, I received a great deal 
more attention and petting from them than was good for 
me. My bump of reverence never was over-developed, 
and under the influence of this sort of thing, I rapidly 
became very pert. But there were other directions in 
which I did not find life " all beer and skittles." 

A school was selected where, beside a decided lack of 
enthusiasm for any school, I found this particular one not 
altogether a bed of roses. Being the best school obtain- 



58 THE END OF AN ERA 

able, it was attended by the sons of the most prominent 
people of the place. And therein lay the trouble. If 
their fathers' views had controlled the election of gov- 
ernor, our residence at Only would have been undisturbed. 
The city was the stronghold of Ivnow-Nothingism in Vir- 
ginia. In a vote of nearly four thousand, father had not 
received exceeding nine hundred votes, and they were for 
the most part from the humbler classes. The Richmond 
Democrats were so few in numbers that they were called 
the " Spartan Band." The rural votes gave father his 
majority, especially in the splendid yeomanry of the 
Shenandoah Valley, among whom very few slaves were 
owned. They were the men who afterwards, drawn into 
the war to fight the slave-owners' battles, won with their 
valor the immortal fame of StonewaU Jackson. 

Father had notions about manhood suffrage, public 
schools, the education and the elevation of the masses, 
and the gradual emancipation of the slaves, that did not 
suit the uncompromising views of people in places like 
Richmond. It was the abode of that class who proclaimed 
that they were Whigs, and that " Whigs knew each other 
by the instincts of gentlemen." The slave market was a 
flourishing institution in Richmond, fully countenanced if 
not approved and defended. The majority of Richmond 
people hated the name of Democracy, and, almost always 
defeated by it, were willing to unite with the Know-No- 
things or any other party to defeat their enemy the 
Democracy. 

At school, I very soon discovered that the Richmond 
city boys were disposed to turn up their noses at me, not 
only as a country boy, but because I was my father's son. 
I had several fistic encounters with them, and after that, 
things went on more smoothly, but not very pleasantly. 

There never was such a place as Richmond for fighting 



J 



THE KNOW-NOTHING CAMPAIGN 59 

among small boys. The city is built over a number of 
hills and valleys, and in those days the boys of particular 
localities associated in fighting bands, and called them- 
selves Cats. Thus there were the Shockoe Hill Cats, the 
Church Hill Cats, the Basin Cats, the Oregon Hill Cats, 
the Navy Hill Cats, etc. 

About this time we were seized with the military fever. 
In those days, the State of Virginia had a large armory 
at Richmond, and a standing army of a hundred men ! 
The command was known as the " Public Guard," but 
the Richmond boys called them the " Blind Pigs." The 
syllogism by which this name was reached was unanswer- 
able. They wore on their hats the letters P. G., which 
certainly is P I G without the I. And a pig without an 
eye is a blind pig. Q E D. 

The public guard was as well drilled and cared for 
as any body of regulars in the United States army. It 
guarded the penitentiary and public grounds, and was a 
most valuable organization in many ways. 

Captain Dimmock, commanding officer, was a West 
Pointer, I think, and the beau ideal of a soldier. His son 
Marion and my brother, three years my senior, conceived 
the idea of forming a boy's soldier company. Father en- 
couraged the idea, and caused a hundred old muskets in 
the armory to be cut down to the proper size for boys. 
Captain Dimmock entered heartily into the scheme. The 
boys were drilled assiduously. Their uniform was neat 
cadet gray ; and for several years the " Guard of the 
Metropolis " was one of the most striking institutions of 
Richmond. It always paraded with the Public Guard, 
and the precision of its drill astonished and delighted all 
beholders. Seven years later, William Johnson Pegram, 
the first lieutenant of that company, attained the rank of 
brigadier-general in Lee's army before he was twenty-one 



60 THE END OF AN ERA 

years old, and although killed in battle, is still remem- 
bered as one o£ the bravest and most brilliant artillery 
commanders of the civil war. Many other members were 
utilized as drill-masters at the outbreak of the war, and 
subsequently became excellent officers. 

Too young to carry a musket, I was made marker of 
this famous company, and was as proud of my uniform 
and little marker's flag as a Frenchman of the Cross of 
the Legion of Honor. 



CHAPTER VI 

BEHIND THE SCENES 

The present generation finds it difficult to realize the 
position in the Union occupied by Virginia, even as late 
as 1856-60, to which period our narrative now brings us. 
People recall, in a general way, that Virginia was once 
the theatre of many historic events ; that she gave birth 
to many great men in the early days of the Republic ; and 
that. she was the chief battle-ground in the civil war. 

A romantic interest attaches to her in consequence, and 
there is a certain tenderness for Virginia felt towards 
no other State, even in sections which were once arrayed 
against her. 

But from many causes, a decline in her social and polit- 
ical importance has occurred within the last forty years, 
which, in its rapidity and in its extent, presents one of the 
most remarkable instances in history. Let us not stamp 
it as degeneracy. The day when she produced men of the 
tyi^e of Lee and Jackson is too recent to justify despair. 

It is made doubly difficult to judge her by the charac- 
ter of the writings concerning her. On the one hand, we 
have extravagant eulogiums and fond laments of those 
who laud her old-time history and people, and admit no 
defects in them ; on the other, the always unfair and 
often ignorant denunciations of the anti-slavery folk, who 
are unwilling to admit, even at this late day, that any 
good could come out of the Nazareth of slavery. Both 
are wide of the mark. The social and economic condi- 



62 THE END OF AN ERA 

tions of Virginia were neither Utopian, as the one loves to 
depict, nor bad and vicious, as the other would represent 
them. 

It is undeniably true that, between the two extremes of 
society, as it existed there prior to 1865, was an awful 
gulf, upon one side of which were green pastures and 
still waters, and on the other noisome bogs filled with 
creeping reptiles. It was a condition incompatible with 
every theory of republican equality among men, and be- 
yond question repugnant to the ideas and sensibilities of 
free communities. 

Whether what has followed will ultimately result in a 
better civilization is as yet far from settled ; but whether 
for better or for worse, it is certain that a social, eco- 
nomic, and political earthquake, never surpassed in sud- 
denness and destructive force, burst upon that people, 
working changes that have left little trace of what was 
there before. 

If the Virginian who died forty years ago could revisit 
his native commonwealth, he would find it difficult to 
recognize the place where he lived. If he located it by 
the streams which still flow to the sea, and the moun- 
tains still standing as sentinels through the centuries, he 
would soon learn, even concerning these, that many are 
no longer landmarks of Virginia, but, snatched from her 
in the hour of her weakness against her will, are now 
possessions of an alien State. For the less enduring 
things, — for men such as he knew, for their very habi- 
tations, their mode of life, the fashion of thought of his 
day, for its wealth, its refinement, its culture, for its lofty 
incorruptibility and high-mindedness, — he would search 
sadly and in vain. 

In the day of which I write, Virginia, among the States 
of the Union, was, in territorial area, second only to 



BEHIND THE SCENES 63 

Texas. Her western boundary was the Ohio River ; north- 
ward, her Panhandle projected high up between Ohio and 
Pennsylvania. Her wealth made her credit at home and 
abroad above question. Her bonds sold higher in New 
York and London than those of the federal government. 
Her political importance placed her sons in commanding 
positions in the cabinet, on the bench, and as representa- 
tives to many important foreign governments. In every 
national assemblage her voice was hearkened to as that of 
a potent and conservative and reliable guide. 

Richmond was admittedly the centre of a society unsur- 
passed in all America for wealth, refinement, and culture. 
Nearly every distinguished foreigner felt that his view of 
America was incomplete unless he spent some time in the 
capitol of the Mother of States and Statesmen. Soldiers, 
authors, sculptors, artists, actors, and statesmen sought 
Richmond then as surely as to-day they visit New York 
and Boston. 

The actual population of the city was small. It is diffi- 
cult to realize that in 1860 Richmond had but thirty-eight 
thousand inhabitants. But the truth is, that its real con- 
stituency was much greater ; for it was the assembling- 
point of a large class of wealthy persons who resided on 
their plantations upon the upper and lower James, and in 
Piedmont, Tidewater, and the South Side. 

It is not uncommon nowadays to see references to 
Southern society of that period as uncultured, and rather 
sensual than intellectual in its tastes. This historic false- 
hood, like many others assiduously told for a long time, 
may find permanent lodgment in the belief of the future. 
No statement was ever more unjust. With inherited 
wealth, with abundant leisure, with desire to excel in 
directing thought, and to attain that command of men 
which knowledge affords, with an innate passion for ora- 



64 THE END OF AN ERA 

tory, a thorough education was the natural ambition of a 
Virginia gentleman. True, his efforts were not directed 
towards acquiring practical or scientific knowledge ; for 
these were in those days possessed, for the most part, by 
men who expected to apply them to earning a livelihood. 
But in education in the classics, in the study of ancient 
and modern languages, in history, in philosophy moral 
and political, in the study of the science of government, 
in the learned professions, no men in America were better 
equipped than the wealthy Southerners of that period. 

It is true, there was no public-school system, and the 
reason for it was very plain. The wealth of the upper 
classes enabled them to have private tutors. The paucity 
in numbers of the lower classes of the whites, and the dis- 
tances at which they lived apart, rendered public schools 
impracticable for them. Education of the blacks was, 
of course, contrary to all ideas of slavery. Suppose we 
depended upon the wealthy to inaugurate public schools, 
— how many should we have ? Yet nobody suspects that 
they are indifferent to education. The best proof of the 
care of the slaveholding Southerner for education may be 
found in the lives of distinguished Northern men who 
grew up fifty years ago. In many instances, they record 
the fact that their first employments were as tutors in 
wealthy Southern families. The private libraries of Vir- 
ginia destroyed in the war, or burned in the old Virginia 
homesteads, would have filled every public library in the 
North to overflowing. Every current periodical and pub- 
lication of that day, American and foreign, was upon the 
library table of the Virginian not later than it was in 
the Northern reading-room. 

Conversation at social gatherings did not run to games 
and sports, and dress and dissipations, and gossip and 
amusements, but to the great events of the day, to the 



BEHIND THE SCENES 65 

latest productions in litei^ature and art, and to things 
worthy of man's noblest thought and discussion. It is an 
insult to the memory of those most intellectual people to 
describe the men as a breed of swearing, drinking, and 
gambling fox-hunters, and the women as pampered, candy- 
eating dolls. The per cent, of youth educated at foreign 
universities was greater in proportion to white population, 
at the outbreak of the war, in Virginia than in Massa- 
chusetts. This was natural, in view of the greater indi- 
vidual wealth. 

It is true that every enterprise dependent upon what 
is known as public spirit, or originating in the demand 
or desire of common use, was sadly lacking. Wealthy 
people seldom cooperate. Each buys, for private use, 
things which all might well use in common if the price 
was an important consideration ; and none, perhaps, have 
as much, or as good, as all might more cheaply obtain if 
they acted conjointly. 

In times of slavery, there never was a decent hotel or 
public livery in the South. The private establishments 
were so large that their hospitality was deadly to the suc- 
cess of public houses, or other provision for the public 
comfort. Of a thousand or two thousand visitors to the 
city of Richmond, not one hundred would seek public 
accommodation. They either had town residences of their 
own, or were taken in charge by friends and relatives as 
soon as they reached the city. Everybody was kin to 
everybody. Visitors were ushered into vacant chamb<irs 
that were already yearning for them, attended by the ser- 
vants that were idle in their absence, furnished with equi- 
pages and horses that needed use and work, and fed of an 
abundance that had been wasted before they came. All 
this was repaid by their mere presence, which banished 
ennui, in those days when public amusements were rare 
and inferior. 



m THE END OF AN ERA 

The domestic luxury and comfort of these people was 
all that heart could wish for. Their houses were fur- 
nished sumptuously in every detail. From drawing-room 
to chamber, everything was provided which wealth could 
wish. Mahogany, rare china and glass ware, massive 
silver, and the choicest of damask and linen were found 
in the dining-room, which was an important feature of 
every home. But there was a singular lack of the elabo- 
rate ornamentation and gilding so prevalent at present. 
The servants were in numbers, in thorough knowledge of 
their duties, in considerate care of their guests, and in 
respectful deference to their superiors, such as never were 
surpassed anywhere, and such as are now found on no 
portion of the earth's surface, unless, perhajis, it be in 
England. The Virginia cook and the Virginia cooking 
of that time were the full realization of the dreams of 
epicures for centviries. They also have passed away, like 
many of those precious gifts which are too delightful to be 
of long continuance. The dress of the period was, con- 
sidering the opulence of the people, remarkable for its 
simplicity. Of diamonds and precious stones and jew- 
elry there was abundance, and they of the most costly 
kind, and in quality the costumes of the women were of 
the best ; but neither in number nor in extravagance of 
make-up was there any such display, especially in public, 
as Ikter times have developed. 

Male attire was exceedingly simple. As late as 1858, 
several of the old gentlemen wore the queues we see in 
pictures of Washington and his contemporaries, but those 
instances were exceedingly rare. Among elderly men, no 
such thinar as a beard was admissible. The clean-shaven 
face was almost without exception. Young dandies began 
to wear hirsute adornments about the time Ned Sothern 
appeared in " Our American Cousin," and made " Lord 



i\ 



BEHIND THE SCENES 67 

Dundreary " side-whiskers the fashionable fad. Elderly- 
gen tlemeu wore broadcloth, with tall silk hats, high stand- 
ing collars, and white or black stocks. This was varied 
among country gentlemen by broad slouch hats of felt or 
straw, and expansive white or nankeen waistcoats. Dur- 
ing the heated term, a fashionable attire was an entire 
outfit of white or brown linen duck. 

Until the vear 1858, there was little difference between 
the costumes of old and young men, except in neckwear. 
Among youngsters, colored cravats were worn. About 
that year came, among the idtra fashionables, a remark- 
able outfit, consisting of short, double-breasted reefing 
jackets, trousers immense at the hips and tapering to the 
ankles, Scotch caps, and " Dundreary " whiskers. But a 
country youth would have scorned such wild imaginings 
of tailors. A city man thus equipped, walking beside a 
woman in hoops and a broad-faced bonnet, would give 
Fifth Avenue a genuine sensation if he reappeared to- 
day. 

The private equipages were handsome. Rogers, of Phil- 
adelphia, and Brewster, of New York, built nearly all of 
the carriages in use among the Virginians, and the horses 
were Virginia or Kentucky thoroughbreds. There was 
rivalry to possess the handsomest teams, and the equi- 
pages on Franklin Street compared favorably, in number 
and style, with those in any city in this country. One 
remarkable old lady, a Mrs. Cabell, had a vehicle swing- 
ing upon immense C-springs, drawn by large Andalusian 
mules of her own importation, with liveried coachman and 
footmen. But that was never adopted as a model. Even 
at that late day, a few people drove to the White Sulj^hur 
in their private vehicles, and a drive of forty miles to visit 
friends in the country was a mere episode. The socia- 
bility of the period was great. 



68 THE END OF AN ERA 

Concerning the mode of life, tliere were but two impor- 
tant meals daily. Breakfast, except for business people or 
schoolchildren, was rather lute. Morning visiting among 
the ladies was from one o'clock until three P. M. The 
dining hour was generally at three P. M. From dinner 
time vmtil about 7.30 p. M. came a leisure period for 
driving ; and then an informal repast, consisting of tea, 
coffee, chocolate, biscuits, sandwiches, and light cakes, 
served in the drawing-rooms. At this hour the family, its 
guests and visitors, were generally assembled in their best 
dress. The meal, if such a light repast could be so desig- 
nated, was served by butlers bearing great trays. Every 
drawing-room had its " nest " of tiny tables on which 
to place the plates and cups. The repast did not even 
interrupt the flow of conversation. In pleasant weather, 
many of the guests sat upon the porticoes and were served 
there. This was the time when young folks, male and 
female, interchanged visits. 

Music, vocal and instrumental, and dancing varied the 
enjoyment of those charming evenings. The wit of the 
time was brilliant and refined. There was Littleton 
Tazewell, remembered as having declined a proffered cup 
of tea by dryly saying : " No, thank you, I would be azwell 
without the T." There was Tom August, whose wit was 
like Sheridan's. He it was who refused to bet on the 
great four-mile race between " lied Eye " and " Revenue " 
because, as he said, the result was already certain. When 
asked why it was certain, he replied, " The first legal 
maxim I ever learned was, ' Id certum est, quod certum 
Reddi potest.' " On another occasion, responding to the 
frightened inquiry, " Who is that ? " when a neighbor 
heard him falling downstairs, he promptly replied, " 'T is 
I, sir, rolling rapidly." Sweet Tom August, — courtly 
to dames, loving to friends, brave in war, brilliant at the 



BEHIND THE SCENES 69 

bar, gentle and loving to the last, — green be the grave 
that covers thee ! Dying July 31st, he laughed, an hour 
before he died, and remarked, " For once, the first and 
last of August have come together." 

And then there was mincing and primping John R. 
Thompson, the poet, and young Price, now a grave pro- l^ 
fessor of Columbia, and handsome, dashing Willie Mun- 
ford, to-day a white-haired minister ; and Jennings Wise, 
and Brandfute Warwick, and John Pegram, — the last 
three dead in the battle front before five years had rolled 
by. And there were yoimg Randolph Barksdale and 
Randolph Harrison, twin Apollo Belvideres in youthful 
beauty. And red-faced George Pickett, in his army 
clothes, before Gettysburg immortalized him, leading 
his charming petite sister to the piano to flood the house 
with melody like that of the mocking-bird. There, too, 
was the brilliant Lucy Haxall, whose exuberant wit made 
all the welkin ring ; and sweet Mary Power Lyons, who 
made men better for beholding such exquisite refinement 
and maidenly beauty ; and the rich Penn heiress from 
New Orleans ; and the gentle Morsons ; and Pages and 
Carters and Lees by the score. 

In the quiet corners sat matrons smiling on this scene 
of pleasure, — Dame Scott, of Fauquier, with her great 
white turban, her intellectual face looking like a queen's ; 
Mrs. Judge Stanard, handsome and charming; Mrs. 
James Lyons, young and beautiful as the most blushing 
debutante ; stately Mrs. Fowle, of Alexandria, and, by 
her side, hospitable Mrs. McFarland, and beautiful and 
accomplished Mrs. Seddon, of Goochland. Last, but 
by no means least, were the middle-aged and elderly 
• representative men of the city and State, engaged in 
courteous attention to the ladies, or grouped in drawing- 
room, library, or veranda, discussing the living issues of 



70 THE END OF AN ERA 

the times. There was James Lyons, one of the leaders 
of the Virginia bar, the handsomest man of his day ; and 
noble-looking John B. Young, who, in the forefront of 
his profession, still found time to read Dickens until 
he was a walking encyclopaedia of Dickens's wit ; and 
William H. McFarland, Richmond's king of hospitality, 
portly and imposing, in ruffled shirt and spotless black ; 
and Judge Robert Stanard, whose very presence was 
suggestive not only of the bench, but of a certain weak- 
ness he had for whist and " Lou " and " Bragg ; " and 
George W. Randolph and Roscoe B. Heath, the rising 
men of the bar ; and the Reverends Joshua Peterkin and 
Charles Minnegerode, sjjiritual doctors ; and Doctors 
Deane and Haxall, doctors of the flesh, — all mingling in 
most delightful and refined exchange of courtesy and 
thought. 

Once or twice a week the public band played in the 
Capitol grounds. The park was illuminated. The citi- 
zens generally promenaded up and down the great parade 
and enjoyed the music. Our home was opened on such 
occasions to father's friends, and with clean-washed face 
and most approved attire, I flitted in and out : now petted 
in the drawing-room ; now stealing away with a biscuit or 
a cake for some little pet darkey ; now out in the public 
square with my boy acquaintances. 

School occupied our mornings, and three afternoons of 
the week were allotted to our French. When older, I 
should never have begrudged that time to so charming a 
companion as Mile. Vassas, the instltutrice, but we looked 
upon her then as our natural enemy. Afternoons and 
Saturdays were left to us to indulge in boyish diversions. 
At first, these were harmless and domestic enough. In the 
spacious grounds about the Government House, we had 
pet pigeons, tame squirrels, a rabbit-warren, an improvised 



BEHIND THE SCENES 71 

gymnasium, and other things to make home happy. Old 
Harry, our slave coachman, often accompanied us on 
horseback rides ; and the boys of our acquaintance were 
glad to avail themselves of the attractions at our home. 
We were warned against playing in the streets, or wan- 
dering into other portions of the city, and for a long time 
obeyed such commands very well. But in time, I found 
many excuses for absence. Between the visits to the 
state barracks, where our soldier company drilled, and to 
the Penitentiary, where ingenious convicts, without regu- 
lar employments, built us boats, and engines, and cannon, 
and wagons, and all sorts of toys, there were always plau- 
sible excuses for frequent and long absences, the real 
nature of which were never very closely investigated. 

Then came the excitement of another presidential 
election. I hear you exclaim, " Now what possible inter- 
est could a presidential election possess for a boy ten 
years old ? " You ask that question because you do not 
know the society I am describing. Not a day passed that 
I did not hear something about the dangerous condition 
of the political situation. Long before James Buchanan 
was nominated by the Democrats, I knew that Stephen 
A. Douglas, " the little giant," with his views of squatter 
sovereignty, could not command the vote of the South- 
ern Democracy. Father was a warm supporter of Mr. 
Buchanan as the representative of the conservative element 
of Democracy. Accordingly, when Buchanan was nomi- 
nated, largely through the influence of the Virginians, 
I felt a personal interest In the success of "Buck and 
Brack," and was their avowed advocate in all places. 
Richmond was still unreconciled to Democracy ; and the 
American ticket, headed by ex-President Fillmore and 
Andrew Jackson Donelson, was a hot favorite in Vir- 
ginia's capital. As for the new and third party, known 



72 . THE END OF AN ERA 

as Republican and led by Fremont and Dayton, it literally 
had no following there. Out of the 160,000 votes cast in 
Virginia in the presidential election of 1856, only 1800 
votes were cast for the Ilej)ublicans, and they were nearly 
all cast in the Panhandle. 

But the supporters of Buchanan and of rillraore made 
a great noise in Kichmond. They were united in ridicul- 
ing Fremont, but divided in all else. Nearly every night, 
open-air political speaking took place, with parades, ban- 
ners, red lights, and bands of music, and great orators vis- 
ited the city. From these, and from the political cartoons, 
which were very plentiful, I learned a great deal about 
Buchanan and Breckmridge, and about Fillmore and 
Donelson ; but I was led to regard the candidacy of Fre- 
mont as a political farce, and chiefly heard of him as 
finding woolly horses in the Rocky Mountains, and running 
away with Jessie Benton, daughter of Missouri's great 
senator. I did not realize that, although the storm of 
abolition had not yet assumed fidl force, it was rapidly 
gathering, with its centre in this Republican ticket ; nor 
appreciate that, in many Northern States, Fremont was 
drawing to his support a great following, which, with its 
" wide-awake " processions and other demonstrations, 
excited an enthusiasm not seen m politics since the time 
of " Tippecanoe and Tyler too." Even when the election 
occurred and Buchanan was chosen, I did not know that 
the real battle had been between Buchanan and Fremont, 
and that, for the first time, a solid North had been arrayed 
politically against, a solid South. 

No ; however seriously a scrutiny of the returns may 
have affected older and more thoughtful people, young 
folks, and many older folks than I, looked only at the 
results, and regarded the election of Buchanan as once 
more putting at rest the plans of the abolitionist and 



BEHIND THE SCENES 73 

the fears of the slaveholder. Little did I foresee that 
within eight years from the time I was hurrahing for 
" Buck and Brack," I should be led in battle by Breck 
in an assault on Buck, and upon everything that Buck 
and Breck stood for in the great election of 1856. 

The result of the election of 1856 gave great satis- 
faction at our home. In the year 1857, passing through 
Washington on our return from the annual visit to Phi- 
ladelphia, I had the distinguished honor of visiting a 
President for the first time. In company with a friend 
of father's, we children were taken to the White House. 
The President was a charming old gentleman, of very 
distinguished appearance. His greeting was cordial and 
simple. I looked him over carefully, and wondered why 
he had one hazel and one blue eye, and why he had never 
married. Then I reflected that perhaps that was the real 
reason, for the dear old fellow seemed exceedingly fond of 
children, and perhaps, after all, would have had a wife 
and children, if he could have found a lady who would be 
content with a pair of misfit eyes. Very sweet and tender 
eyes they wei-e, however. After looking through the 
President's conservatory and receiving some pretty flowers, 
and eating a fine piece of President's cake, and being in- 
trusted with some kind messages for father, we felt that 
we had not made any mistake in supporting Buchanan 
for President. 

Soon after this, we had an opportunity of seeing an 
eminent representative of the other side in politics. Per- 
sonal animosities did not enter so largely into politics in 
those days as they do now, although the stakes of the po- 
litical game were greater, and the issues really more vital. 

An abolitionist in the abstract, as conceived by us, 
under the teachings surrounding us, was a very frightful 
creature. We had heard much of past negro insurrec- 



74 THE END OF AN ERA 

tions inspired by secret Northern emissaries. It was part 
of my early education to learn of a fearful massacre, led 
by a desperate negro named Nat Turner, in the county of 
Southampton, a few years before I was born. I had been 
taught to believe that Nat Turner and his deluded follow- 
ers had really had no cause of grievance, but that secret 
abolition emissaries had gone among them, and with devil- 
ish malignity had stimulated them to rise in the night, and 
put to death a number of innocent people who had been 
good to them all their lives, to whom they owed every debt 
of gratitude for becoming their masters here and making 
Christians of them, instead of leaving them savages in 
Africa. All this seemed reasonable, with no argument on 
the other side ; and the fact that Nat Turner and all who 
joined him were wiped off the face of the earth seemed a 
natural result of Nat's lack of appreciation of the good 
state in which he lived. In a general way I had heard, 
and heard it with regret, that the real culprits, the aboli- 
tionists, who had made Nat Turner do these horrid things, 
had escaped, and from time to time contemplated the pos- 
sibility that such fiends still existed, and still prowled at 
night about negro quarters, and induced them to run 
away. Of course, I had no idea that such a thing as a 
negro insurrection could occur in our community with 
a body of troops present like the Public Guard. But why 
talk of such possibilities? Were not the negroes per- 
fectly content and happy? Had I not often talked to 
them on the subject ? Had not every one of them told 
me repeatedly that they loved " old Marster " better than 
anybody in the world, and would not have freedom if he 
offered it to them ? Of course they had, — many and 
many a time. And that settled it. 

All this being true, I looked upon an abolitionist as, in 
the first place, a rank fool, engaged in trying to make 



BEHIND THE SCENES 75 

people have what they did not want ; and in the next 
place, as a disturber of the peace, trying to make people 
wretched who were happy, and a man bad at heart, who 
was bent on stealing what belonged to his neighbor, or 
even inciting the murder of people for slaveholding, as if 
slaveholding were a crime, when it was no crime, but a 
natural and necessary condition of society. 

With views like this concerning abolitionists in general, 
my curiosity was greatly excited when I heard that one 
William H. Seward, the acknowledged leader of the Re- 
publican party in the North, was not only in the city of 
Richmond, but was visiting and being entertained by the 
Hon. James Lyons, a connection and supporter of my 
father. 

When I was presented to Mr. Seward, I was greatly 
surprised to find him a natural-looking person, with most 
attractive manners, genial, bright in companionship, laugh- 
ing in his talk, and actually going so far as to call his 
host Lyons, and the other gentlemen by their given names. 
Mr. Seward surprised me also by eating and drinking and 
smoking, and having a good time generally ; and I watched 
him long and in vain to see some distinguishing mark by 
which I might thereafter recognize an abolitionist. I dis- 
covered none, except it be a wonderfully large nose, which 
was also a characteristic of John Brown and Abraham 
Lincoln, his brother abolitionists. 

I listened in vain for some utterance of abolition views 
from Mr. Seward, but the party seemed more interested 
in a decanter of old Madeira, and a discussion of some 
passing social event, than in the all-absorbing question of 
slavery, and so Mr. Seward's convictions were reserved 
for future expression. I thought he might possibly give 
money to Austin the butler, with which to escape from 
slavery, but, so far as was ever discovered, nothing like 



76 THE END OF AN ERA 

that occurred. Mr. Seward came and went. He enjoyed 
his visit, and his host enjoyed his company. But neither 
made much impression on the political views of the other. 
Many other things were happening which drew my 
attention to the subject of slavery. During our next 
visit to Philadelphia, everybody was talking about a book 
and a play called " Uncle Tom's Cabin." I had heard 
mention of the book at home, as a very powerful but 
very "pernicious" book. More than once the subject 
had come up in conversation in my presence ; and I had 
heard the work spoken of as a cruel travesty uj)on South- 
ern life, disgusting in its sentimental sympathy with the 
negro. I was surprised to find that everybody in the 
North was reading " Uncle Tom's Cabin," and pronoun- 
cing it a remarkable production ; and when it was pro- 
posed, on our next visit to Philadelphia, to take me to 
a theatre to see this wonderful play of "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," I was delighted. Never did theatrical perform- 
ance open to any one more gratifyingly than that wonder- 
ful drama. In my heart I had a feeling that our North- 
ern kinsfolk thought their homes were finer than those 
in our beloved South. I did not think so. When, 
in the opening act, I saw the beautiful Southern home, 
with its flowers and bowers and sunshine, I said to myself, 
" Now they will see how we live, and will envy us." Yes, 
old Uncle Tom and all his family were just such darkeys 
as were in Virginia. And as for Eva, there she was, 
looking like a hundred little girls I knew, and infi- 
nitely sweeter in voice and eye than the prim Northern 
girls surrounding me. And Eva's father! I knew a 
hundred charming young fellows just like him. Her mo- 
ther ? Well, there was no denying it that now and then 
we saw one like her, but she was not a common or attrac- 
tive type. And Topsy ? Yes, there were darkeys just like 



BEHIND THE SCENES 77 

her, even within my limited knowledge. I laughed and 
enjoyed myself along with the others over Tops3'^'s queer 
antics. 

The play moved on. In time the slave auction came, 
and the negro-buyers, and the terrible domestic tragedy 
to Uncle Tom, and the fearful Mississippi River trip, and 
the whipping of Eliza's husband, — her flight, the blood- 
hounds, and all the ghastly story which thrilled a nation. 
I was too young to grasp the moral of that story, yet 
old enough to feel my heart rebel against things which I 
had never before seen laid at the door of the jjeople 
I loved and among whom I lived. I believed that many 
of them were the mere creations of a malignant enemy, 
who had conjured them up out of her own imagination to 
prejudice the outside world against my kith and kin, and 
I indignantly denied, when questioned concerning the 
play, that such scenes were possible. I had never wit- 
nessed them, or heard of them, in the home of my father. 
I resolved to denounce and forget this new phase of sla- 
very which that night had revealed to me, and the anger 
and the pity which I heard expressed by the people about 
me confirmed me in the belief that they were sentimental- 
ists on subjects of which they were ignorant, and that the 
denunciation of slavery by Northerners sprang from pre- 
judices engendered by just such outrageous exaggerations 
as those of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

But the play made a deep and lasting impression upon 
me. The sweet vision of little Eva, the inexpressible 
pathos of Uncle Tom, the freaks of Topsy, came back to 
me time and time again. Alas ! they returned yoked in 
my memory with the wretched figure of Legree, the blood- 
hounds, and the misery of the other scenes, and the possi- 
bility that it all might be true revealed itself to me in a 
way that I little expected. I knew there was such a thing 



78 THE END OF AN ERA 

as a negro-buyer. On one or two occasions I had had 
such men pointed out to me. I had been taught to regard 
them as an inferior class of humanity ; but this knowledge 
came principally from the negroes themselves, for the 
grown people of my own class seldom referred to them, 
and they received no sort of social recognition. I had, in 
fact, seen in the newspapers advertisements of the sale of 
negroes, side by side with little figures of a man with a 
pack on his back, and the offer of a reward for a runaway. 
But never until my return from the North was my curios- 
ity sufficiently aroused to make me locate the place of sell- 
ing negroes, or determine me to see a sale. 

Among my Northern kinsfolk was a young uncle, a 
handsome, witty fellow, much younger than my mother. 
Notwithstanding her death, he had kept up his affection 
and intimacy with father. Influenced partly by his regard 
for father and partly by pride as a Pennsylvanian, he had 
become an ardent supporter of Mr. Buchanan. He occu- 
pied a rather prominent position as a Democratic member 
of the Pennsylvania legislature. Controlled doubtless by 
his warm attachments in the South, he had no squeamish 
feelings about slavery. He loved the Union, and sincerely 
believed that the only way to preserve it was by recogniz- 
ing the existence of slavery, and by protecting the slave- 
holders in all lawful ways. He believed also that men like 
his brother-in-law were convinced that slavery ought to 
be abolished ; and that the best way to bring that result 
about, without disunion and conflict, was to trust to its 
gradual accomplishment by the slave States themselves, 
acting under the influence of men such as he knew, instead 
of attempting to coerce them by outside influence, which, 
as he believed, would arouse their antagonism and defi- 
ance, so as to defeat or delay the end desired. This was 
the honest feeling which made many a Northern man a 



BEHIND THE SCENES 79 

Democrat in those days. It may have been an error in 
judgment, but it was an error, if error at all, on the side 
of Union and fraternity, springing from a knowledge of 
their Southern brethren, a respect and regard for them, 
and a desire for the peaceful solution of a most perplex- 
ing problem. Let no man at this day denounce that feel- 
ing as cowardice or lack of principle. The man of whom 
I write felt that way and acted that way to the last. But 
when the " irrepressible conflict " came, he laid down his 
life with a smile for the Union, while many a man who 
had precipitated the struggle never went to the front. 
And he was but one of thousands. 

It was he who had taken me to see " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin ; " and it was he who had petted me, and taken me 
about the streets of Philadelphia, and spoiled me in 
many ways; and it was he who had taken me to visit 
the President ; and now he had come to visit us, and 
spend a week of leisure with his favorite brother-in-law. 

My oldest brother had recently returned from Paris. 
He had been absent as Secretary of Legation in Berlin 
and Paris for nearly six years. He and my uncle were 
nearly of the same age, and devoted friends. Father loved 
this oldest son as the apple of his eye, and the feeling of 
that son for his father was little short of adoration. The 
relations between these three — father, son, and brother-in- 
law — were of the most intimate and beautiful kind. To- 
gether they conferred, as if they were men of the same age, 
and, being in full accord on public questions, their views 
were always harmonious, whether looking to some social 
pleasure, or some cooperation for the advancement of their 
political plans. Father had higher ambitions than he 
had yet realized. He was becoming prominent as a possi- 
ble candidate for the presidency. Both from a natural 
inclination and a desire to promote his candidacy, my 



80 THE END OF AN ERA 

brother had become editor of the " Richmond Enquirer," 
the leading Democratic journal of Virginia ; my uncle was 
heart and soul enlisted in securing support for father 
among his own constituency. It was believed that his 
well-known conservatism on the subject of slavery, and 
his intense devotion to the Union, would make his pro- 
spects very good for the nomination. 

I had unrestrained access to the library, where this trio 
frequently assembled ; and, without being admitted into 
their graver conversation, heard it, and understood its gen- 
eral tenor. The occupations of my father and brother left 
their visitor to find his own amusements until the evening 
hour, and he diverted himself at such times by reading or 
sight-seeing, or in diversions with the children, of whom 
he was very fond. 

One Saturday, thus left alone with me, the subject 
of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " came up. He asked if I had 
ever seen a slave sale. " No," said I, all alert, for since I 
saw the play I had resolved that I would some time see 
a slave auction ; " but I know where they sell them. I 
saw the sign a few days ago. Let us go and see what it 
is like." So off we started. Out of the beautifid grounds 
and past the handsome residences we went, turning down 
Franklin Street towards the great Exchange Hotel, which 
was at that time the princiiJal public place of Richmond. 
Beyond it we passed a church, still used as such, although 
the locality had been deserted by residences, and stables 
and little shops surrounded it. As we proceeded, the 
street became more and more squalid and repulsive, until 
at last we reached a low brick warehouse, with its end 
abutting on the street and running far back. Over the 
place was the sign, with the name of an owner and 
the words " Auction House " conspicuously painted. At 
the door hung a red flag, with an advertisement pasted on 



i 



BEHIND THE SCENES 81 

its side, and up and down the street a mulatto man walked 
with another flag, ringing a large bell, and shouting, " Oh, 
yea ! Oh, yea ! Oh, yea ! Walk up, gentlemen. The sale 
of a fine, likely lot of young niggers is now about to 
begin." To these he added, in tones which were really 
merry, and with an expansive smile, that they were " all 

sorts of niggers, belonging to the estate of the late , 

sold for no fault, but to settle the estate ; " and that the 
lot embraced all kinds, " old ones and young ones, men 
and women, gals and boys." 

About the door, and on the inside, a few men were 
grouped, some in their shirt-sleeves. For the most part, 
they had the appearance of hostlers. The place itself 
looked like a livery stable within the building. For a 
long distance back from the street, there were no side- 
lights or skylights. In the rear only was it light, where 
the structure projected beyond those on either side of it, 
and there the light was ample, and the business in hand 
was to be transacted. 

We moved cautiously through the dark front of the 
building, and came at last to the rear, where a small plat- 
form occupied the centre of the room, and chairs and 
benches were distributed about the walls. Another large 
mulatto man appeared to act as usher, standing near a 
door, through which from time to time he furnished a 
fresh supply of slaves for sale. A large man, with full 
beard, not a bad-looking fellow but for the " ratty " ap- 
pearance of his quick, cold, small black eyes, acted as 
auctioneer. A few negroes sat on the bench by the door, 
they being the first " lot " to be disposed of. The pur- 
chasers stood or sat about, smoking or chewing tobacco, 
while the auctioneer proceeded to read the decree of a 
chancery court in the settlement of a decedent's estate, 
under which this sale was made. The lawyers represent- 



82 THE END OF AN ERA 

ing different interests were there, as were also the cred- 
itors and distributees having interests in the sale. Besides 
these were ordinary buyers in need of servants, and slave- 
traders who made a living by buying cheap and selling 
for a profit. We took seats, and watched and listened 
intently. 

After reading the formal announcement authorizing 
the sale, the auctioneer became eloquent. He proceeded 
to explain to his auditors that this was " no ordinary sale 
of a damaged, no-'count lot of niggers, whar a man buyin' 
a nigger mout or mout not git what he was lookin' fur, 
but one of those rar' opperchunities, which cum only once 
or twice in a lifetime, when the buyer is sho' that fur 
every dollar he pays he 's gittin' a full dollar's wuth of 
raal genuine nigger, healthy, well-raised, well-mannered, 
respectful, obejunt, and willin'." " Why," said he, " gen- 
tlemen, you kin look over this whole gang of niggers, from 
the oldest to the youngest, an' you won't find the mark of 

a whip on one of 'em. Colonel , for whose estate 

they is sold, was known to be one of the kindest marsters, 
and at the same time one of the best bringers-up of nig- 
gers, in all Virginia. These here po' devils is sold for 
no fault whatever, but simply and only because, owin' to 
the Curnel's sudden death, his estate is left embarrassed, 
and it is necessary to sell his niggers to pay his debts, and 
for distributin' some reddy monny amongst numrus 'aars. 
Of these facts I assure you upon the honor of a gentle- 
man." 

Having thus paved the way for good prices, he an- 
nounced that among the slaves to be offered were good 
carriage-drivers, gardeners, dining-room servants, farm 
hands, cooks, milkers, seamstresses, washerwomen, and 
"the most promisin', growin', sleek, and sassy lot of 
young niggers he had ever had the pleasure of offerin'." 



BEHIND THE SCENES 83 

The sale was begun with some " bucks," as he face- 
tiously called them. They were young, unmarried fellows 
from eighteen to twenty-five. Ordered to mount the auc- 
tion-block, they stripped to the waist and bounced up, 
rather amused than otherwise, grinning at the lively bid- 
ding they excited. Cautious bidders drew near to them, 
examined their eyes, spoke with them to test their hearing 
and manners, made them open their mouths and show 
their teeth, ran their hands over the muscles of their 
backs and arms, caused them to draw up their trousers to 
display their legs, and, after fully satisfying themselves on 
these and other points, bid for them what they saw fit. 
Whenever a sale was concluded, the successful bidder 
was announced, and the announcement was greeted by the 
darkeys themselves with broad grins, and such expres- 
sions as " Thank Gord," or " Bless de Lord," if it went 
as they wished, or in uncomplaining silence if otherwise. 
It was surprising to see how thoroughly they all seemed 
to be informed concerning the men who were bidding for 
them. 

The scenes accompanying the sales of young women 
were very similar to those with the young men, except 
that what was said to them and about them was astonish- 
ingly plain and shocking. One was recommended as a 
" rattlin' good breeder," because she had already given 
birth to two children at seventeen years of age. An- 
other, a mulatto of very comely form, showed deep embar- 
rassment when questioned about her condition. 

They brought good prices. " Niggers is high " was the 
general comment. Who bought them, where they went, 
whether they were separated from father, mother, brother, 
or sister, God knows. Let us hope the result was as 
humane as possible. 

" I am now goin' to offer you a very likely young chile- 



84 THE END OF AN ERA 

barin' woman," said the auctioneer. "She is pufEectly 
helthy, and without a blemish. Among the family, she 
is a universal favorite. I offer her with the privilidge 
of takin' her husban' and two chillen with her at a very 
rejuced price, because it is the wish of all concerned to 
keep 'em together, if possible. Get up here, Martha 
Ann." A large-framed, warm, comfortable-looking, mo- 
therly soul, with a fine, honest face, mounted the block. 
" Now, gentlemen," said he, continuing, " ef you '11 cast 
yo' eyes into that corner, you will see Israel, Martha 
Ann's husband, and Cephas and Melindy, her two chil- 
dren. Israel is not what you may call a raal able-bodied 
man. He broke his leg some years ago handlin' one of 
the Curnel's colts, and he ain't able to do heavy work ; 
but I am asshoed by everybody on the place that Israel is 
a most valuable servant about a house for all kind of 
light work, and he can be had mighty cheap." 

"Yes, sir," spoke up Israel eagerly, " I kin do as much 
ez ennybody ; and, marsters, ef you '11 only buy me and 
de chillun with Martha Ann, Gord knows I '11 wuk my- 
self to deth fur you." 

The poor little darkeys, Cephas and Melinda, sat there 
frightened and silent, their white eyes dancing like mon- 
key-eyes, and gleaming in the shadows. As her husband's 
voice broke on her ear, Martha Ann, who had been look- 
ing sadly out of the window in a pose of quiet dignity, 
turned her face with an expression of exquisite love and 
gratitude towards Israel. She gazed for a moment at her 
husband and at her children, and then looked away once 
more, her eyes brimming with tears. 

" How much am I offered for Martha Ann with the privi- 
lidge ? " shouted the auctioneer. The bidding began. It 
was very sluggish. The hammer fell at last. The price 
was low. Perhaps, even in that crowd, nobody wanted 



BEHIND THE SCENES 85 

them all, and few were willing to do the heartless act 
of taking her alone. So she sold low. When the name 
of her purchaser was announced, I knew him. He was an 
odd, wizen, cheerless old fellow, who was a member of the 
Virginia legislature from one of the far-away south- 
side counties adjoining North Carolina. Heaven be 
praised, he was not a supporter of father, but called 
himself an Old-line Whig, and ranked with the opposi- 
tion. He seemed to have no associates among the mem- 
bers, and nobody knew where he lived in the city. He 
was notoriously penurious, and drew his pay as regularly 
as the week rolled around. 

" Mr. buys Martha Ann," said the auctioneer. 

" I congratulate you, Mr. . You 've bought the 

cheapes' nigger sold here to-day. Will you take Israel 
and the young uns with her ? " 

Deep silence fell upon the gathering. Even imperturb- 
able Martha Ann showed her anxiety by the heaving of 
her bosom. Israel strained forward, where he sat, to 
hear the first word of hope or of despair. The old man 
who had bid for her shuffled forward, fumbling in his 
pockets for his money, delaying his reply so long that the 
question was repeated. " No — o," drawled he at last ; 
" no — o, I 'm sorry for 'em, but I railly can't. You see, I 
live a long way from here, and I ride down to the legisla- 
ture and, when I get here, I sell my horse and live cheap, 
and aims to save up enough from my salary to buy an- 
other horse and a ' chile-barin' woman ' when the ses- 
sion 's done ; and then I takes her home, ridin' behind 
me on the horse. Thar ain't no way I could provide for 
gittin' the man and the young uns home, even if they was 
given to me. I think I 'm doin' pretty well to save enough 
in a session to buy one nigger, much less a whole fani- 
bly." And the old beast looked up over his spectacles as 



86 THE END OF AN ERA 

he counted his money, and actually chuckled, as if he ex- 
pected a round of applause for his clever business ability. 

A deep groan, unaccompanied by any word of com- 
plaint, came from the dark corner where Israel sat. 
Martha Ann stepped down from the platform, walked to 
where he was, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and 
there, hugging her children and rocking herself back and 
forth, she sobbed as if her heart was breaking. 

My companion and I looked at each other in disgust, 
but neither spoke a word. I was ready to burst into 
tears. The old creature who had bought the woman 
lugged out his hoarded money in sundry packages of coin 
and paper, and, as he counted it, said, " Martha Ann, 
cheer up ; you '11 find me a good marster, and I '11 get you 
a new husband." He might well have added, " and the 
more childi-en you have, the better I '11 like you." 

Tliank God, the scene did not end there. The silence 
was oppressive. The veriest savage oh earth could not 
have witnessed it without being moved. " Let us go 
away," I whispered. At last the suspense was broken. 
A handsome, manly fellow, one of the lawyers in the 

case, exclaimed, " By ! I can't stand this. I knew 

Colonel well. I know how he felt towards Israel 

and Martha Ann and their children. This is enough to 
make him turn in his grave. I am unable to make this 
purchase ; but sooner than see them separated, I '11 bank- 
rupt myself. Mr. , I will take Martha Ann off your 

hands, so as to buy her husband and children, and keep 
them together." 

" Well, now, you see," drawled the old fellow, pausing 
in his work, with trembling hand, " if you feel that way, 
the time to speak was when the gal was up for sale." His 
eye glittered with the thought of turning the situation to 
advantage. " You see she 's mine now, and I consider 



BEHIND THE SCENES 87 

her a very desirable and very cheap purchase. Moreover, 
if you want her, I think you ought to be willin' to pay me 
something for the time and trouble I 've wasted here 
a-tryin' to git her." 

The proposition was sickening. But the old creature 
was so small himself that his demand of profit was like- 
wise small, and the matter was soon arranged. Whether 
he remained and bought another " chile-barin' " woman 
is unknown ; for, sick at heart at the sights we had 
witnessed, we withdrew, and walked slowly back in the 
glorious sunlight, past the neighboring church, and up 
to the happy abodes of Virginia's best civilization, little 
inclined to talk of the nightmare we had been through. 
From that hour, the views of both of us concerning sla- 
very were materially modified. Throughout the day, the 
horrors we had witnessed came back and bafck again to me ; 
and, recuperative as I was, I was very, very unhappy. 

That night, the experiences of the morning were the 
subject of a long and anxious and earnest conversation 
between father, my brother, and my uncle. At its close, 
I felt much relieved and proud of them, and better satis- 
fied, because they were all agreed that a system in which 
things like that were possible was monstrous ; and that 
the question was, not whether it should be abolished, and 
abolished quickly, but as to the manner of its abolition. 

Within seven years from that time, my brother and my 
uncle were both dead, — killed in battle on opposite sides, 
in a struggle resulting from slavery. Father's fortune 
and happiness were engulfed in the horrible fraternal strife 
which grew out of this cancer on the body politic, — a can- 
cer which all three of those men were honestly anxious 
to destroy. 

Virginians ! you who in our day were led by Lee and 
Jackson ! have you read this chapter ? Is it true or un- 



88 THE END OF AN ERA 

true ? Ask yourselves calmly. The time has now come 
when you ought, in justice to yourselves, to try to satisfy 
yourselves wherein your old system was wrong and unjus- 
tifiable, as well as wherein it was right. One who loves 
you wrote this story ; one who was your comrade in the 
fight we lost ; one who has no word of blame for you, but, 
on the contrary, believes that we had every provocation to 
fight ; one who, as long as he lives, will glory in the way 
we fought, and is proud of his own scars, and teaches his 
children to believe that the record of Confederate valor 
is a priceless heritage. 

It is not written when the truth can do you harm. It 
is not written by an alien in feeling, or an enthusiast for 
an abstract idea. It is written to make you think, — to 
make you ask yourselves whether you can, before God, 
claim that all «vas as it should be when we had slavery. 
It is written to reconcile you to your loss by showing you 
from what your children were delivered. 

It is penned in the firm belief that some day, while 
brooding upon the happiness, the wealth, the culture, the 
refinement then possessed by the South, and to so large 
an extent lost to her now, you may realize that all these, 
delightful as they were, did not justify the curse and mis- 
ery of human slavery. I seek to make you realize, if 
not admit, that its abolition was a greater blessing to us 
even than to the slaves, and that emancipation was worth 
all we surrendered, and all the precious lives that were 
destroyed ; to bring you to confess, the brave and gen- 
erous men I know you to be, that the time has come at 
last when, through our tears, and without disloyalty to 
the dead, in the possession of freedom and union and lib- 
erty, true Confederates, viewing it all in the clearer light 
and calmer atmosphere of to-day, ought to thank God 
that slavery died at Appomattox. 



CHAPTER VII 

MY BROTHER 

In the last chapter I spoke of the return of my brother 
Jennings from France. After graduating at Bloomington, 
Ind., and studying law at William and Mary College, 
and before he attained his majority, he had received from 
President Pierce an appointment in the diplomatic service, 
and was sent to Berlin as attache of the American Lega- 
tion. He spent three years in Berlin and Heidelberg, 
and was thence transferred to Paris as Secretary of Lega- 
tion, where he further improved hiraseK by study, and by 
contact with the most polished society in Europe. When 
he returned to Virginia in 1857, at the age of twenty-five, 
he was well equipped for a brilliant career. His home- 
coming after a long absence was the occasion of great 
rejoicing in our family. It was as if a new light had sprung 
up in the household. My brother was so modest and unaf- 
fected that his acute intellect and varied information were 
not always revealed to strangers. His disposition was so 
amiable that in all his life he never had a boyish quarrel 
with any one. Of singularly mature and sedate nature, 
he had been his father's loved and trusted companion 
before his departure for foreign parts ; and now that 
he had returned and was about to assume life's serious 
responsibilities, they became inseparable companions. He 
at first entered upon the practice of law; but although 
he secured reasonable employment, and was thoroughly 
trained in common, civil, and international law, he found 
the practice irksome, and lacking in excitement. His 



90 THE END OF AN ERA 

ambition was for political distinction, and very soon he 
quit the law, and became editor of the " Richmond En- 
quirer," the Democratic organ of Virginia. The touch 
of a master hand was quickly revealed in that journal. His 
familiarity with foreign politics, and the new lights shed 
upon them by his knowledge and criticisms, attracted 
widespread interest on the part of his fellow-journalists, 
as well as the public. In domestic politics, his ardent 
nature was soon made manifest upon every page. Since 
the death of Father Ritchie, its once famous editor, the 
" Enquirer " had lost ground, and descended to the level 
of a staid and humdrum commonplace newspaper. 

Within a short time the paper again stood foremost 
among Southern journals, and my brother's name became 
as well known as that of his father. His social successes 
were not less marked than his professional triumphs. 
Women and children idolized him. And well they might, 
for he preferred their society to that of men. Passion- 
ately fond of music and of dancing, it was his delight to 
steal away from the sombre circle of his own sex, or 
leave the after-dinner cigar and wine, to join the ladies in 
the drawing-room. There he would linger with unsatis- 
fied delight, listening to the music, or dancing until all 
others were exhausted. An accomplished linguist, with 
all sorts of interesting knowledge of the world, delight- 
ful in conversation, he possessed an indescribable charm 
for women. Yet, although he was brought into daily 
contact with exquisite creatures, whom it was almost im- 
possible not to love, his fondness for the other sex seemed 
altogether platonic. 

If a child saw him once, it never forgot him. Children 
flocked about him as if he had been the Pied Piper of 
Hamelin. He rejoiced in this sovereignty, and ever went 
prepared with trifles to surprise and delight them. 



MY BROTHER 91 

One of the most remarkable things about him was his 
unaffected piety. He never made a profession of religion, 
yet he was as punctilious in church attendance as an 
elder ; and in the silence of his chamber, where no one 
saw him, he prayed every night before retiring. Unlike 
the many blase youths who are spoiled by residence in 
France, a long life in Paris had produced no visible effect 
upon his purity of life or childlike faith. Whoever was 
thrown with him, young or old, superior or inferior, first 
wondered at his sweet simplicity, and then loved him for 
his unaffected naturahiess, sincerity, and gentleness. This 
charming young brother, returning after so long an ab- 
sence as if from the dead, was a revelation and a source 
of wonderment from the time I awoke in the morning 
until I closed my eyes at night. This was literally true, 
for until his coming, I had never seen anybody open the 
day, winter and summer, with a plunge into an ice-cold 
bath ; likewise, until his arrival with his Parisian love of 
the theatre, I had never closed the day at the playhouse 
with a companion always glad to go, be it ever so bad a 
show. 

My brother Richard, near my own age, had been sent 
off to boarding-school, leaving me sole occupant of our 
sleeping apartment. The chambers of the Government 
House were large and lonesome, and it was with unspeak- 
able pleasure that I obtained consent of the newcomer 
that my little bed should be placed in his chamber. From 
this association sprung pleasures innumerable. The mar- 
velous things from Paris and Berlin were sources of 
unending interest and information. There were the great 
German Schlagers, or dueling-swords, used by the Heidel- 
berg students in the contests among their fighting corps, 
and in time I was fully informed about the habits of the 
German universities. How it tickled me to hear the 



92 THE END OF AN ERA 

story of youug Sidney Legare, of Soutli Carolina, who 
joined the Saxon Corps, and, armed with one of these 
selfsame Sehlagers, fought and won his battle with a' 
German baron ! The inscriptions on the hilt bore the 
names of the young Americans who maintained the pluck 
of the United States among the Continental youth. 

There also were fencing-foils and masks, with which he 
had become so expert in beautiful Paris that he was 
known in every salle d'armes. With these we had many ' 
a friendly bout, until I considered myself quite a rattling 
blade with the foils. Then at times our conversation was 
in French ; especially when I required cash, or proposed 1 
some amusement, I plunged away at him with all the 
French I could command, until I really improved in i 
speaking. From him also I learned much of Parisian 
court life in the time of Louis Napoleon, and many a day ' 
laughed at the stories of the intimacy between Napoleon 
III. and the Hon. John Y. Mason, of Virginia, the Amer- 
ican Minister to France, in whose house my brother had 
been regarded almost as one of the family. i 

My bright and joyous room-mate, bustling about* 
o' mornings, making his toilet after his exhilarating bath, 
often sang snatches of Parisian operas, or repeated long i 
passages from Shakespeare, Byron, and Walter Scott, ' 
for he was full of romance. Thus I became familiar with 
operatic airs, and could repeat many of the striking poet- - 
ical quotations. And there were the Parisian clothes i 
and toilet articles and preparations, — wonderful French 
waistcoats and cravats and neckerchiefs, and boots and 
shoes, and eau de quinine for those curly locks, and i 
pomade for that downy mustache ; every one of them ^ 
strange and new and very captivating to me. I would 
rub my own frowsy mop of hair, hitherto only half i 
brushed, with that eau de quinine, until my scalp was as 



MY BROTHER 93 

red as a lobster, and sighed that I had no mustache on 
which to test the perfumed stick pomatum. What is there 
on this earth more delightful to the small boy than rum- 
maging among the toilet outfit and dress of a grown-up 
brother? And he told me wonderful stories of kniahts 
and ladies and tournaments, and put me to reading Sir 
Walter Scott ; and gave me a famous copy of " Charles 
O'Malley, the Irish Dragoon," and laughed with me over 
" Handy Andy ; " and in the evenings, when lessons were 
difficult, lifted me along with Csesar and Virgil or mathe- 
matics, that we might go together later to the show. Then 
there were the German wines he had brought home, four 
< hundred varieties ; for, while he was abstemious, and cared 
little for spirituous or malt liquors, he loved to sip the 
Rhine wines with his cigar ; and I, who was by no means 
averse to them, was soon an expert in Niersteiners, and 
Laubenheimers, and Moselle Auslice, and Liebfraumilch, 
, and Johannisbergers, and all the rest ; but above all, I 
loved the sparkling Moselles, which have all my life 
reminded me of that beloved companion of those happy 
days. Oh, never had boy a friend and mentor like him, 
— so lovable, so affectionate, so considerate, so pure, so 
stimulating to honest work, so willing, so resourceful in 
innocent amusement. 

One night we attended the play of " East Lynne " at 

\ the old Richmond Theatre. The performance was poor 

■i enough, to be sure, to a young man fresh from Paris, but 

1 1 thought it was great. On our way home, he remarked 

([that the only performer of merit in the caste was the 

I young fellow, John Wilkes Booth. In him, he said, there 

was the making of a good actor. The criticism made an 

impression upon me, who remembered the man and the 

name. Little did I imagine then that in seven years my 

beloved companion would be one of the victims of our 



94 THE END OF AN ERA 

great national tragedy, or that, at its close, the callow 
stri23ling who played before us that night would shock 
the civilized world with the awful assassination of the • 
President. 

And now we come to the antithesis of all these ' 
happy incidents. I have dwelt upon him at length with " 
a purpose, — he illustrated a peculiar phase of that civil- i 
ization. Gentle as was that brother, — tender and lov- ■ 
ing as he was to every one, devoted as a slave to his ' 
father, deferential to his mother as if she had been a 
queen, courteous and considerate towards the humblest ■ 
servant who ministered to his wants, honored and be- 
loved by everybody with whom he was thrown, — he was ' 
nevertheless as fearless and uncompromising in certain 
things as the fiercest knight who ever entered the lists. 
He was, more emphatically than any man I ever knew, 
the type of the class to which he belonged. He had been 
educated in a school, at home and abroad, which not only 
recognized the code duello, but accepted it as the most 
rational mode of settling private differences. 

Of private differences personal to himself, ray brother 
had none. But father 's reputation was the object of his 
care above all others. On one occasion, when asked if 
his heart had not yet been touched by woman, he replied, 
" No. My love for father — my desire for his advance- 
ment — is the absorbing passion of my life. It leaves 
no place for other deep affection. Female society is 
indeed most attractive, but beside the other feeling, it 
is a mere passing thought. I have no time for other 
serious love." What an odd speech for the latter half of 
the nineteenth century ! Does it not sound mediaeval ? 

In the course of public discussion of public men, there 
were criticisms of his father, — some facetious, some 
severe. Concerning such, he had determined upon a line 



MY BROTHER 95 

of action. Quick and hot and insulting came the reply 
to every comment of this kind. Then followed, in due 
course, the inquiry as to authorship, the avowal, the de- 
mand of a retraction, the refusal, the challenge, the duel. 
To the young editor, there was nothing alarming in 
all this, there was nothing improper, there was nothing 
unexpected. He had resolved that whoever criticised 
his father should do so at his peril, should be insulted, 
should be fought if it was so desired, and that to this 
line of conduct he would adhere until such criticism 
stopped, or he himself stopped a bidlet. 

How absurd, how utterly Quixotic, such a course seems 
to us to-day ! Yet, in that time, not only was it deemed 
no absurdity, but a great number of the community, in 
fact a majority, regarded it as natural and manly, evincing 
chivalry of the very highest order. 

Now, whatever other commodities may have been scarce 
in Virginia markets of that time, fighting was as easily 
obtainable as blackberries in June. Not many young 
Virginians were his peers in intellect and accomplish- 
ments, but there were many who were as brave and no 
more intimidated by the danger of a duel. Many such 
were opposed to him in politics, and were unwilling to 
forego, from any fear of fighting, the decided expression 
of their opinions on politics in general, or of his father 
in particular. 

The result was that he had all the dueling the most 
enthusiastic advocate of the sport could desire, for the 
next two years. A cabal of father's political antagonists 
held a conclave, if reports were true, and determined that 
the son was an obstacle in their way, to be disposed of, 
in furtherance of their arrangements to defeat the father. 
Under these refined, humane, and highly civilized condi- 
tions, my brother Jennings actually fought eight duels in 



96 THE END OF AN ERA 

less than two years. It all seems ludicrous to us, in our 
prosaic, commonplace, and common-sense way of looking 
at things nowadays ; but it was no joke to me, when 
every two or three months I missed my beloved comj)an- 
ion from his room and bed for several days, only to learn 
that he was engaged in fighting another duel. Pitiful 
and anxious indeed were the days and nights passed on 
such occasions, waiting to know the result. To me it was 
an enigma past my comprehension. What it was all 
about, I could not understand. I would read, and read 
again, the publications leading to these fearful duels; 
and for the life of me I could not comprehend what there 
was in them to drive men to seek each other's lives. I 
could not conceive the mental or moral processes by 
which my sweet brother, who never quarreled with any- 
body, could bring himself, without anger, to shoot at 
another man with deadly intent. And when he returned, 
laughing at the eagerness of my embraces and welcome, 
and apparently bearing no ill-will towards anybody or 
anything on earth, and when I saw him say his prayers at 
night, and go to church, and mingle in gay society, just 
as he had done before, the mystery only deepened. 

My brother most certainly seemed to bear a charmed 
life, for no one ever hit him in these many encounters. 
On the other hand, it was no mystery to me that he hit 
nobody himself, for I knew that a more execrable shot 
never went afield. Sometimes, after this abominable duel- 
ing began, we practiced with dueling-pistols. His foreign 
education had trained him only in the use of the broad- 
sword and the foils, and these were not American weapons. 
On several occasions, I saw enough of his bad marksman- 
ship to know that if he hit anybody it would be by acci- 
dent ; for he was both inexpert and inapt with firearms, 
and I easily outstripped him in marksmanship. 



MY BROTHER 97 

The thing went on ; duel after duel occurred. In one 
of them, the gallant fellow, after his opponent fired, dis- 
charged his pistol in the air, because his adversary was 
near-sighted and at his mercy. In another, after ineffec- 
tual exchange of shots and the customary palaver, matters 
had been adjusted. At last, on another occasion, the antag- 
onists had actually started to leave the field, when his 
adversary demanded another shot. His demand was 
acceded to, and at the next fire my brother succeeded in 
hitting him, and seriously wounded him. Little credit 
he deserved for marksmanship ; it was another instance 
like that of the shooter portrayed in " Punch," in which 
a sportsman, hitting a bird after many failures, appealed 
to the Scotch game-keeper : " Ah, Sandy, I hit that one." 
" Yes, sir," was the reply, " they will fly into it some- 
times." But whether designed or accidental, this last 
performance, after making a great hubbub for a few 
days, resulted in giving him a breathing-spell, and he had 
no more duels prior to the outbreak of the war. 



CHAPTER VIII 

unveiling of washington's statue, and removal op 
Monroe's remains, 1859 

In all her history, from the formation of the federal 
government until the hour of secession, no year stands 
out more prominently than the year 1858 as evidencing 
the national patriotism of Virginia. To one participating 
in the scenes enacted in Richmond, and listening to the 
speeches of her leaders, the statement that within three 
years the old commonwealth would renounce allegiance to 
the federal Union would have seemed preposterous. 

The State, at great expense, had reared a noble monu- 
ment to the memory of George VTashington. It consists 
of a central shaft surmounted by an equestrian statue of 
Washington, with six smaller plinths, on which are placed 
heroic figures of Virginians, representing different periods 
of her greatness. 

Not one of these men was famous for deeds done on 
behalf of Virginia alone. The fame of each and every 
one of them rests upon public services, or sacrifices for the 
nation. 

Among such, Virginia finds her greatest names. 
There was Washington, her son, father of his country ; 
there, too, Andrew Lewis, who penetrated the unexplored 
wilderness of the Northwest and made it hers. Yet she 
joyously ceded all claims upon it to the nation, as her 
contribution to perpetual union and fraternity, imposing 
only the conditions that slavery should never exist there, 



UNVEILING OF WASHINGTON'S STATUE 99 

and that alternate sections of land should be dedicated 
to public education. There was also Patrick Henry, who 
roused thirteen colonies to revolution with his immortal 
eloquence ; and George Mason, who drafted a bill of 
rights epitomizing the aspirations and safeguards of 
republican institutions in language which, from then until 
now, has furnished the substance of the written charts of 
government of all the newly admitted States ; and Thomas 
Jefferson, sage, philosopher, and seer, author of the 
Declaration of Independence, the Statutes of Religious 
Liberty, and founder of Virginia's university ; and Gen- 
eral Thomas Nelson, who devoted his fortune to the Conti- 
nental struggle, and trained an American cannon upon 
his own house when it was the headquarters of Corn- 
wallis at Yorktown ; and John Marshall, who began his 
public career as captain in a Virginia regiment, served at 
Valley Forge and Monmouth, and afterwards, as Chief 
Justice of the United States, was the peerless expounder 
of that Constitution which he had fought to establish. 

Oh, what a galaxy of men, encompassing the very 
heavens of our national life ! What other commonwealth 
could produce its like then ? What other can produce it 
now? 

Is it surprising that the Virginians, whose State was 
mother of the nation's father, whose great Chief Justice, 
the youngest of the immortal group, was the lodestar of 
constitutional construction, loved that Union and rejoiced 
in it, and honored it from their hearts' inmost depths ? 

In other States, jealousies and animosities against the 
Union may have existed, but, up to that time at least, 
such sentiments found little lodgment in the breasts of 
the Virginians. 

With beating hearts and honest pride, they assembled 
from every section, February 22, 1858, to unveil the 



100 THE END OF AN ERA 

equestrian statue of Washington. The figures of Henry 
and Jefferson had preceded that of Washington, and were 
on their appropriate plinths. Poor Crawford, the sculptor 
in charge of the work, had died from over-exertion in 
Rome after the Washington figure was cast and shipped 
to America. The presence of his widow lent an additional 
and pathetic interest to the scene about to be enacted. 

The vessel bearing the statue arrived at Richmond 
from Italy some weeks before the unveiling. The male 
population of the city, men and boys, dragged the statue 
through the streets from the wharves to the Capitol 
grounds, a distance of over a mile. Enthusiasm was 
unbounded on every hand. 

Of all these new sights I there beheld, that which capti- 
vated me most was the corps of cadets of the Virginia 
Military Institute. The State owned an arsenal at Lex- 
ington, in the valley between the Blue Ridge and the 
Alleghanies. Prior to 1839, she kept a guard at this 
arsenal. In that year, she established there a military 
school, in charge of Captain Francis H. Smith, a dis- 
tinguished graduate of West Point. It was organized 
strictly on the lines of the United States Military Acad- 
emy, as to drill, discijjline, tuition, and all else. At first 
the number of cadets was limited to a few, who received 
board and tuition free, and in return guarded the pro- 
perty of the State, and agreed to teach school for a certain 
period after graduation. By degrees, a large number of 
cadets were admitted upon condition that they pay for 
board and tuition. The school grew ; extensive buildings 
were erected ; and in 1858 the Virginia Military Insti- 
tute had over three hundred cadets, and was the best 
establishment of the kind in the United States, except 
the United States Military Academy. It resembled the 
latter in everything but in the liberality of appropriations, 



UNVEILING OF WASHINGTON'S STATUE 101 

and the assurance of an appointment to the army. Its 
original superintendent remained in charge, and he con- 
tinued to hold the office for fifty years. To this uniformity 
of administration much of the high reputation of the 
school was no doubt attributable. 

The appearance of the corps on the above occasion, the 
first on which I ever saw it, was sufficient to excite the 
wildest enthusiasm of a small boy. Never before had I 
seen such trim, alert figures ; such clean, saucy-looking 
uniforms ; such machine-like precision and quickness of 
drill ; such silence and obedience. From the first day my 
eye rested on the cadet corps, the height of boyish ambi- 
tion was to be a cadet. Four companies of infantry and a 
section of artillery drawn by " rats " constituted the cadet 
outfit. 

The " rats " referred to were not genuine rats like those 
attached to Cinderella's coach, but "plebes," or new 
cadets, who, until they remain a year and hear " Auld 
Lang Syne " played at the graduation exercises, are called 
" rats." The only thing about this fine body that struck 
me as in any way lacking in soldierly appearance was the 
commandant of the infantry battalion. He was not my 
ideal of a soldier, either in military bearing, or in the 
manner in which he gave his commands. His uniform 
was not new ; his old blue forage-cap sat on the back of 
his head ; and he stood like a horse " sprung " in the 
knees. His commands were given in a piping, whining 
tone, and he appeared to be deeply intent upon his busi- 
ness, without paying much regard to the onlookers. On 
the other hand, the officer commanding the section of ar- 
tillery was the model of a martinet. He was petite, quick 
as a lizard, straight as a ramrod, and his commands were 
delivered like the crack of a whiplash. I thought him 
a perfect commanding officer. 



102 THE END OF AN ERA 

The cadets were quartered in the Richmond Lyceum. 
When the ceremonies were over, the small boys collected 
about the corps like flies about molasses, and, when the 
cadets marched off to their quarters, followed them, I 
among the foremost. I knew several of the cadets. When 
the command was halted near its quarters, we boys 
crowded around it in such a way that we inconvenienced 
the officer in charge. He passed along the line, tapping 
us back with the flat side of his sword, exclaiming in a 
deprecatory voice, " Get away, little boys ! Get away — 
get A-W-A-Y ! " It was ludicrous, and I could detect 
smiles, even on the faces of the thoroughly disciplined 
cadets ; but something in the manner of the officer made 
the boys get away, and get away in a huri^y. 

When the parade was dismissed, on inquiring about 
the officers, I learned that the odd-looking commandant 
was familiarly called " Old Jack ; " that his real name was 
Major Jackson ; and that the cadets, while disposed to 
make lijrht of him for his eccentricities, dared not trifle 
with him. As to the other officer, Major Gilham, all 
agreed that he was the best drill-officer and tactician they 
had ; that he was far superior to Major Jackson ; and they 
spoke with profound respect of the infantry tactics of 
which he was the author. 

At the grand reception given that night by my father, 
I again saw both these officers, and their bearing con- 
firmed me in the judgment that there was no question 
which was the superior soldier. Major Jackson was plainly 
dressed, wore coarse shoes, had a weary look in his blue 
eyes, took very little part in conversation, seemed bored 
by the entertainment, neither ate nor drank, and, after 
paying his respects to the governor, and to General Win- 
field Scott, commander-in-chief of the armies of the 
United States, quietly disappeared. Colonel Gilham, on 



UNVEILING OF WASHINGTON'S STATUE 103 

the other hand, was urbane, ubiquitous, and remained 
until the close of the entertainment. 

In after years, I had occasion to revise my opinion of 
the relative ability of these two men, for Major Jackson 
was none other than the immortal Stonewall ; and Major 
Gilham, while brave enough, never rose beyond the rank 
of colonel, and retired from active service in 1862 to 
resume his professorship at the Institute. 

And " Old Fuss and Feathers ! " — bless his colossal 
old soul ! was ever a name more appropriately bestowed ? 
— I saw him also that day, for the first time. What a 
monster in size he was ! Never was uniform more mag- 
nificent ; never were feathers in cocked hat more profuse ; 
never was sash so broad and gorgeous. He was old and 
gouty, keen for food, quick for drink, and thunderous of 
voice, large as a straw-stack, and red as a boiled lobster. 
His talk was like the roaring of a lion, his walk like the 
tread of the elephant. No turkey-gobbler ever strutted or 
gobbled with more self-importance than did the hero of 
Lundy's Lane. The women flattered him, and he liked it. 
The men toasted him, and he never refused to join or to 
respond. As long as he remained, he was the cynosure 
of all present. When he withdrew, a characteristic inci- 
dent occurred. In the great hallway, he called for his 
wraps and his galoshes. The servants were quick to hurry 
forward with them. Several cadets had been invited to 
the entertainment, and were standing about awestruck in 
the presence of the commander-in-chief. 

As the servants offered him his cloaks and overshoes, 
he waved them away imperiously, and in his commanding 
voice thundered out, " No, no ! Let the cadets attend 
upon me. Here, you cadets! Help me with my over- 
shoes and wraps. It is not every day that I can get 
such orderlies, and it is not every day that you can wait 



104 THE END OF AN ERA 

upon the general of the armies." The boys leaped for- 
ward to his assistance, delighted at such distinguished con- 
descension, and soon had him fully caparisoned. With his 
arms about their shoulders, he laboriously descended the 
sleety marble steps, shouted back some cheery words to 
those watching on the portico, entered the fine carriage 
which awaited him, slammed the door, and drove away, 
snorting and puffing, in all his majesty. 

What a wonderful mixture of gasconade, ostentation, 
fuss, feathers, bluster, and genuinJe soldierly talent and 
courage was this same Winfield Scttt of blessed memory ! 
A great smoking mass of flesh and blood ! So devoted to 
epicurean enjoyment that, even when he was candidate 
for President, he lugged into his public papers allusion to 
his " hasty plate of soup." But for all that, a splendid 
soldier in the service of his country for over fifty years. 
What a contrast he presented to his favorite comj)anion, 
— gentle, quiet Colonel Lee ! 

It was days after this glorious celebration before its 
excitements subsided sufficiently to enable me to concen- 
trate my reluctant mind upon Latin, French, and mathe- 
matics. 

Delightful, inspiring to patriotism, exhilarating, as were 
the ceremonies at the unveiling of the Washington statue, 
the scenes enacted in Kichmond in July of that same year 
outstripped them far in gorgeousness, and in the display 
of fraternal feelino-s between the North and South. 

In the month of April, the Virginia legislature made 
provision for the removal of the remains of Ex-President 
James Monroe from the city of New York to the capital 
of Virginia. 

Mr. Monroe had been buried in New York with appro- 
priate honors, interred in a private cemetery vault, pur- 



REMOVAL OF MONROE'S REMAINS, 1859 105 

chased by liis daughters, and there his ashes " awaited 
the call of his native State " for twenty-seven years. At 
the time the Virginia legislature made that call, his only 
surviving descendants were three children of Mrs. Gou- 
verneur. The eldest, bearing his name, deeply afflicted 
by Providence, and the second, a daughter, spoke through 
their father, Samuel L. Gouverneur of Frederick County, 
Maryland ; the third, Samuel L. Gouverneur, Jr., spoke 
for himself. All assented to the removal. 

The public announcement of the intention of his native 
State to reclaim his ashes was the signal for a great out- 
burst of patriotic fervor in Virginia and in New York. 

Virginians residing in New York held meetings look- 
ing to the disinterment there with appropriate ceremonies ; 
the city authorities at once passed the necessary resolu- 
tions. Couunittees of conference were sent from Virginia. 
A steamship was chartered to convey the remains, and the 
New York military vied with one another for the honor of 
acting as military escort. So great was the enthusiasm 
that it culminated in a tender, by the Seventh Regiment 
of New York, of their escort of the remains at their own 
expense, as a guard of honor from New York to Rich- 
mond. This being accepted, that splendid body of citizen 
soldiery chartered the Ericcson steamer, and made ready 
for their patriotic pilgrimage. 

The Richmond military were all busy with preparations 
to receive their guests. The public grounds, the Capitol, 
all public places, were filled with workmen erecting arches, 
painting patriotic emblems, hanging thousands of colored 
lanterns, and draping the city in mourning. The Fourth 
of July fell that year upon Sunday. Consequently, the 
arrival of the remains and the military escort was timed 
for Monday, July 5. At daybreak and at sunrise the 
Fayette Artillery, a local volunteer organization, fired the 



106 THE END OF AN ERA 

national salute in the Capitol Square. At six o'clock, 
the flags upon the public buildings, hotels, and shipping 
were placed at half mast. The citizens were still engaged 
draping their residences and places of business in the 
habiliments of mourning. The Henrico Light Dragoons, 
the Public Guard, the First Virginia Regiment, the 
Young Guard Battalion, and the Rocky Ridge Rifles 
from the neighboring town of Manchester formed line 
at seven o'clock and marched to Rocketts, the landing- 
place of the steamer Jamestown, bearing the remains of 
President Monroe. Upon the neighboring hillsides were 
gathered thousands of people, men and women, white and 
black, of every condition in life. Carriages, omnibuses, 
and baggage-wagons were drawn up in long lines near the 
wharf ; marshals and field-officers rode hither and thither 
giving orders, and scattering the crowds to right and left 
before them. Flaunting flags, and signals at half mast, 
were visible everywhere ; civic organizations with bands 
and banners followed the military. The whole community 
was in a ferment of expectation. 

" The day opened clear and beautiful, the intense heat 
relieved by a pleasant southerly breeze. The local troops 
stacked arms, and waited the arrival of the steamers. 

" The Jamestown came in sight at ten minutes past eight 
o'clock, and slowly approached the wharf, with flags and 
signals at half halliards. As the ship came alongside her 
wharf, the committee and guests from New York stood 
on the upper deck, and regarded with much interest the 
exciting scene on shore. 

" The remains of President Monroe having been re- 
moved from the forward saloon to the upper deck and 
placed under an awning, the governor and mayor pro- 
ceeded on board the Jamestown and received the guests, 
and an interchange of friendly greetings took place. The 



REMOVAL OF MONROE'S REMAINS, 1859 107 

remains were attended by a detachment of the New York 
National Guard, but after their arrival, they were relieved 
by a platoon of the Richmond Grays, detailed for the 
purpose. 

" The steamer Glen Cove, with the New York Seventh 
Regiment on board, came in sight at ten minutes past ten, 
and, despite the solemnity of the occasion, the younger 
portion of the assembled throng gave vent to their feel- 
ings in a cheer. As the steamer approached the wharf, 
her appearance was really imposing. The soldiers, with 
their glittering arms, were paraded ready for debarkation, 
while the splendid band of the Seventh, stationed on the 
forward deck, played a solemn dirge. 

" The Virginia troops were drawn up in line, facing the 
river, ready to receive the visitors, and without unneces- 
sary delay the Seventh left the boat, and passed on to the 
right of the line, the Virginia military presenting arms as 
they marched by. 

"The hearse, drawn by six white horses, attended by 
six negro grooms dressed in white, now proceeded to the 
steamer, and, under the direction of the pall-bearers, re- 
ceived the remains. The troops presented arms, flags 
were lowered, drums rolled, and trumpets sounded, after 
which the Armory Band played a dirge, while the hearse 
proceeded to its place in the line. Minute-guns were fired 
and bells tolled, continuing during the progress of the pro- 
cession to the cemetery. 

" The procession moved at half past eleven o'clock. 

" The route lay directly up Main Street to Second, 
down Second to Gary, and thence out to Hollywood. All 
along the route of the procession, a distance of more than 
two miles, the sidewalks were lined with spectators ; every 
balcony, porch, and window overlooking the street, every 
available spot on the line, was crowded with ladies, chil- 



108 THE END OF AN ERA 

dren, and men. The minute-guns continued firing ; the 
bells in the vicinity of the route tolled, answered by peals 
from others in the distance ; business was universally sus- 
pended ; and the attention of the entire community was 
concentrated on the imposing pageant in honor of the 
memory of the illustrious man whose bones were now on 
the way to their earthly resting-place. 

" The troops marched with reversed arms, and the 
bands played music appropriate to the occasion. 

" The grave of Monroe is located in the southwest cor- 
ner of Hollywood, on an eminence commanding a magni- 
ficent view of the city, the river, and the environs. 

" After the line was formed around the grave, the coffin 
was removed from the hearse. When the remains were 
lowered into the grave, the troops presented arms, the 
Seventh Regiment rested on arms, and the band played a 
dirge. This portion of the ceremony being over, the gov- 
ernor appeared on the front of the platform and spoke : — 

" ' CouNTRY]viEN AND Fellow Citizens : The General 
Assembly of the Commonwealth has ordered that the 
remains of James Monroe, one of the most honored and 
best beloved of her sons, shall, under the direction and at 
the discretion of the governor, be removed from the pub- 
lic burying-ground in the city of New York to the ceme- 
tery at the city of Richmond. The remains are removed, 
the cenotaph is open, and we are here assembled to inter 
them in their last resting-place with becoming ceremonies. 

" ' Venerable Patriot ! — he found his rest soon after 
he retired. On the 4th of July, 1831, twenty-seven years 
ago, he departed, like Jefferson and Adams, on the anni- 
versary of the Independence. His spirit was caught up 
to heaven, and his ashes were enshrined in the soil of his 
adopted State, whose daughter he had married, — of that 



REMOVAL OF MONROE'S REMAINS, 1859 109 

grand and prosperous Commonwealth whose motto is 
" Excelsior," our sister New York, the Empire State of 
the United States of America. Virginia was the natural 
mother of Monroe, and New York was his mother-in-law, 
— Virginia by birth and baptism. New York by marriage 
and burial. This was well, for he gave to her invaders 
the glaived hand of " bloody welcome " at Trenton, and 
New York gave to him a " hospitable grave." Virginia 
respectfully allowed his ashes to lie long enough to con- 
secrate her sister's soil, and now has dutifully taken them 
to be " earth to her earth and ashes to her ashes," at home 
in the land of his cradle. New York has graciously bowed 
to the family request, has disinterred the remains, has 
laid them out in state, and has sent the elite of her chi- 
valry to escort them with banners and trumpets, in mili- 
tary and civic procession, to our cemetery. Who knows 
this day, here around this grave, that New York is of the 
North, and that Virginia is of the South ? " The North 
has given up," and " the South shall not hold back," and 
they are one, even as all the now proud and preeminent 
thirty-two are one. 

" ' We affectionately, then, welcome New York, and cor- 
dially embrace her around the grave of him, Virginia's 
son, to whom she gave a resting-place in life and in death. 
And now I call the minister of God to pray for his bless- 
ing on this passing scene. I ask the righteous man to 
pray fervently and effectually for the example of this 
patriot's life to be blessed to the youth of our country, — 
blessed to the people of this generation ; blessed to the 
public men of New York and Virginia and the United 
States; blessed to the cause of truth and justice and 
human freedom ; and blessed to the perpetual strength, 
peace, liberty, and union of this confederacy, " one and in- 
divisible, now and forever ! " May the good which this 



110 THE END OF AN ERA 

patriot did be revived by the disinterment of bis bones, 
and may monuments of wisdom and virtue like his be so 
multiplied and raised around yonder Capitol of the Mo- 
ther of States, that the very statues of her heroes and 
sages and patriots dead and departed shall be the moral 
guide-marks of her living and active servants, to preserve 
this Commonwealth, untorn in destiny and untarnished in 
glory, to " the last syllable of recorded time," when the 
tenants of Hollywood, this beautiful city of the dead, 
shall rise to immortal life ! ' " 

Of these inspiring scenes I was a silent but interested 
witness. Every manifestation of patriotic and fraternal 
feeling thrilled me to my inmost soul. From time to time 
I had heard the mutterings of discontent and the pro- 
phesies of approaching conflict, but the scenes which 1 
beheld, and the burning words and thundering shouts I 
heard that day, put at rest the last feeling of fear for the 
future of my country. 

At the close of the ceremonies at the grave, the artillery, 
stationed outside the inclosure, fired three salvos. 

Upon the day following, the delirious city was given a 
specimen of the drill and efficiency of the glorious Seventh 
Regiment. Its appearance and perfection in drill and 
discipline were beyond all expectations. After a review 
by the governor. Colonel Duryee drilled the regiment, 
without music, in various battalion movements. 

I stood agape at every evolution. The Virginia troops, 
which I had theretofoi*e regarded as perfection itself, 
seemed to me now a mere incongruous lot of painted toys, 
contrasted with this homogeneous mass of military, neat, 
bi-illiant in cleanliness, and absolutely without gaudiness. 
In the Richmond regiment no two companies were of the 
same size, and no two uniformed alike. The Grays were 
gray, the Blues were blue, the Montgomery Guard was 



REMOVAL OF MONROE'S REMAINS, 1859 111 

green as the waters of Niagara, the Riflemen blue and 
green, the Young Guard blue and red. One company had 
waving plumes of white, another short pompons, a third 
red and white plumes. When they were drawn up in 
line, they looked deplorably irregular, contrasted with the 
absolute uniformity of the handsome Seventh. 

It seemed incredible that I, a protege, in fact a veteran, 
of the Richmond military, — I, who until now had looked 
upon the First Virginia Regiment as the finest body of 
troops on earth, — could come to regard it as almost con- 
temptible in the short space of twenty-four hours. 

Yet there were others like me. 

Said one paper : — 

"The recent visit of the Seventh Regiment of New 
York to our city, it is to be hoped, will have a good effect 
on our volunteer organization. We could but regard the 
simple uniform of the entire regiment, and the neat and 
unostentatious dress of its officers, as presenting a wide 
contrast with the parti-colored line of our volunteers, and 
the fine decorations and pompous display which meet the 
eye in surveying our regimental parades. 

" We have not a doubt that the volunteer force of the 
city would be strengthened, would be increased in num- 
bers and improved in discipline, if they would consolidate 
themselves into one regiment, abandon their uniforms, 
and adopt a new and plain dress for the whole body of 
soldiers." 

Little did the writer know, and less did the Seventh 
Regiment suspect, that upon this visit they fixed, in the 
Southern mind, a type of uniform which, within three 
years, was substantially adopted by the Confederate 
States. 

Three years after this date, the First Virginia Regiment 
had fought in the battle of Manassas ; and the Seventh 



112 THE END OF AN ERA 

was encamped at Arlington Heights, but fifteen miles' dis- 
tant, being part of a hostile force moving against Mount 
Vernon and Richmond. Such was the rapid march of 
events. 

After the scenes above described had closed, and the 
military had departed, the remainder of the year glided 
away uneventfully ; but the glorious memories of July 5 
lingered, and all Richmond was busy in the effort to have 
a real military force such as it had seen, and to abandon 
the past methods of its volunteer system. As for patriotic 
national feeling, it is safe to say that, when the year 1859 
opened, in spite of Southern fire-eaters and Northern 
fanatics, there were not, in the whole State of Virginia, 
five thousand men who had any sort of sympathy with the 
idea of secession. 



CHAPTER IX 

THE JOHN BROWN RAID 

The declamation against disunion and the mutual 
pledges of fraternal love between North and South, 
which attended the banquet to the Seventh New York 
Kegiment in Richmond, arose in great part from a know- 
ledge of sectional feeling, threats of disunion, and of 
partisan recriminations between politicians, but too fa- 
miliar to all who spoke. At the same time, an intense 
antagonism to slavery existed in sections of the North 
and West, accompanied by the determination to abolish 
it by any means in their power, lawful or unlawful. 

Little effort has been made to record the fact, yet it is 
nevertheless true, that many Southern men were working 
earnestly and loyally towards the adoption of some plan 
of gradual emancipation which, while it would free the 
slave, would not destroy the labor system of the South or 
leave the slave-owner impoverished. The abolitionist did 
not believe this. He was uncharitable in his judgment 
of the humanity of the slave-owner ; and his demand that 
a difficult problem, requiring time for its solution, should 
be disposed of at once and in his way — per fas aut 
nefas — was strongly provoking. The attitude of the 
people of the North generally concerning escaped slaves 
seemed to the Southerners inconsistent, and tended to 
increase the friction between the sections. The people of 
the North professed great reverence for their constitu- 
tional obligations, and constantly disclaimed a purpose to 



114 THE END OF AN ERA 

interfere with slavery where it existed. They insisted 
that they were only opposed to the spread of slavery into 
the f I'ee States or Territories, and would respect the rights 
of the slave-owner where slavery already existed. Yet, 
whenever a slave escaped, the Northern community in 
which he sought asylum was practically unanimous in 
thinking it a great outrage and hardship if he was j^ur- 
sued into their territory and taken back to his owner. It 
is often said that, before the war, only a small portion of 
the Northern people belonged to the abolition party. 
Whether that was true or not, it is certain that a vast 
majority of every Northern community was in sympathy 
with obstacles thrown in the way of recapturing escaped 
slaves. Everybody, North and South, was well aware 
that in many instances the slave was enticed from his 
home by abolition emissaries. Yet when he reached the 
North, thousands who would not have gone South to 
incite him to escape did all they could to make the work 
of the emissaries effectual. 

In such a condition of affairs, the practical difference 
between the abolitionist and the sympathizer, to the 
man who lost his slave and could not recover it, was very 
nebulous. From certain descriptions of these times, one 
would think that all the threats and taunts were made, 
and all the provocations were given, by the Southerners. 
At this late day, such a contention is nonsense. No more 
defiant, vindictive, or aggressive speech was ever made 
than that of Charles Sumner, senator from Massachusetts, 
in the United States Senate in 1859, on the " Barbarism 
of Slavery." He had a personal grievance, it is true ; he 
had been brutally assaulted in that chamber years before, 
and his speech bore every mark of being the result of 

" The patient watch and vigil long 
Of him who treasures up a wrong." 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 115 

It is not justifying the assault made upon Mr. Sum- 
ner by Preston S. Brooks to say that no man ever did 
more to provoke an attack upon himself than did Mr. 
Sumner. His speech in 1856 was able, studied in its 
malignity, and all the more provoking from its strength. 
Nor was Sumner the only man of that class. We may 
search through the congressional debates in vain for more 
coarse and insulting language than that used by Senator 
Ben Wade, of Ohio, upon the floor of the Senate. Every 
opportunity was taken by him to lead the debates in the 
Senate into sectional channels. 

Acquisition of Cuba is more advocated in the North 
to-day than in the South. In 1860, the project was branded 
by the Republicans in the Senate as a slaveholder's scheme 
for securing additional representation. The proposition 
then made by Senator Slidell, to purchase Cuba for 
thirty million dollars, was flouted by Wade and his party 
as a mere ruse for providing " niggers for the niggerless." 
Jealousy, antagonism, and hatred between the sections 
animated the representatives of both, and neither lost any 
opportunity to vituperate and recriminate. 

While this was the condition of feeling among the 
politicians, it had not yet extended to the masses. For 
several years, the conflict had been in progress between 
the free-soilers and pro-slavery men in Kansas. The 
Virginians were conservative in their views about that 
struggle. They realized that the men engaged in it on 
both sides were a bloodthirsty and disreputable lot. Lead- 
ing Virginians, supporters of Mr. Buchanan, warned him 
not to go too far in subserviency to the extreme pro- 
slavery men, or to force a pro-slavery constitution upon 
the State. Virginians, while they heard of the fanatical 
and bloody butcheries committed in Kansas by one " Old 
Brown," and men of his class, also heard of equally 



116 THE END OF AN ERA 

horrid crimes committed by the pro-slavery men. They 
held both in abhorrence, and indorsed neither. 

It was not the Kansas trouble that occasioned them 
concern, or excited their apprehensions concerning the 
Union. It was the announcement by Abraham Lincoln, 
of Illinois, in his debate with Douglas in 1858, that the 
Union was a house divided against itself, and that sla- 
very and union could not coexist. It was declarations like 
those of Senator Seward, of New York, that " an irrepres- 
sible conflict " existed between the North and South. It 
was speeches of men like Charles Sumner, breathing 
deep malice against the South, and denouncing it in 
polished oratory. These and a hundred others like them 
from men of the North, less prominent but not less 
representative, made Virginians realize that the times 
were perilous, and say to themselves : " If this temple 
of union is divided against itself and must fall, if slavery 
and union cannot coexist, if an irrepressible conflict is 
vipon us, if Mr. Sumner expresses the state of Northei'n 
sentiment, it is manifest that the hour of disunion is 
here. The only thing remaining for us to do is to begin 
to consider which side of us the line of cleavage shall 
come, north or south." 

Virginians were no more angels or philanthropists than 
people to the north or to the south of them. They were 
moved by their affections, their interest, and their resent- 
ments, just as humanity is moved to-day. Their strongest 
social ties were with the Southern people. They had a 
great part of their wealth invested in slaves ; and, while 
far in advance of the States to the south of them in the 
desire for some plan of gradual emancipation, they were 
not willing to have their property unceremoniously jostled 
out of their hands without compensation, to gratify Mr. 
Lincoln, Mr. Seward, Mr. Sumner, Mr. Wade, or the 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 117 

constituencies which they represented. They thought the 
conditions of future association announced by these men a 
rather high and hasty price for the privilege. And, lastly, 
their very love of the Union inflamed them against men 
who, as they viewed it, were making union impossible, 
except on terms involving humiliating surrender to the 
abolitionist. 

It is often said by writers that Mr. Lincoln and Mr. 
Seward, when they spoke of a divided house, the im- 
possibility of the coexistence of union and slavery, and 
the " irrepressible conflict," were simply stating abstract 
propositions, and did not mean that they would counsel 
a physical assault upon slavery or the enactment of 
unconstitutional laws, and that their figures of speech 
referred only to the logic of the political situation. Their 
language may have been intended as statements of 
abstract principles ; but, assuredly, what they said was 
susceptible of, and received, quite another construction. 
By their followers and opponents they were understood as 
declaring war on slavery, immediate and uncompromising. 

As for Mr. Sumner and Mr. Wade, nobody pretended 
that they meant anything else. The Southerners may 
have been more demonstrative and noisy in their quarrels ; 
but they were not a whit more stubborn, aggressive, 
defiant, or irritating than the men of the North. The 
Southern man scoffed the pretense that the Northern man 
really desired union, when he refused to subordinate his 
demands concerning slavery to any other consideration. 
The Northern man denounced the Southern man as hat- 
ing the Union, because he would not consent to remain 
in it, even if he believed that the North, while professing 
the purpose of respecting his right, at heart intended to 
deprive him of his slave propei-ty on the first opportunity. 

This political warfare was very intense in 1858-59. The 



118 THE END OF AN ERA 

debates between Lincoln and Douglas on the slavery 
question, in the autumn of 1858, kindled the fires of 
slavery and anti-slavery discussion on every hilltop. In 
1859, the awful tragedy in which Senator Broderick was 
killed by Judge Terry in California, in a duel growing 
out of the slavery question, lent fuel to the flame. 

Just at this crisis an event occurred, which was made a 
test, in the mind of the average Virginian, of the real feel- 
ing of the North towards the South. After it happened, he 
set himself to determining what was the real meaning, 
the real tendency, and what was to be the outcome, of the 
doctrines announced by Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward, Mr. 
Sumner, and others during the years 1858 and 1859. 
He believed that in the expressions of the North, concern- 
ing this event, he would find the best evidence of what 
their real sentiments were towards the South. 

The attack of John Brown upon Harper's Ferry came 
upon Virginia like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky. 

In the afternoon of October 17, 1859, I was passing 
along Main Street in Richmond, when I observed a crowd 
of people gathering about the bidletin board of a news- 
paper. In those days, news did not travel so rapidly as 
now ; besides which, the telegraph lines at the place from 
which the news came were cut. 

The first report read : — 

" There is trouble of some sort at Harper's Ferry. A 
party of workmen have seized the Government Armory." 

Soon another message flashed : " The men at Harper's 
Ferry are not workmen. They are Kansas border ruffians, 
who have attacked and captured the place, fired upon and 
killed several unarmed citizens, and captured Colonel 
Washington and other prominent citizens of the neighbor- 
hood. We cannot understand their plans or ascertain 
their numbers." 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 119 

By this time an immense throng had assembled, agape 
with wonder. 

Naturally reflecting that the particulars of an outbreak 
like this would first reach the governor, I darted home- 
ward. I found my father in the library, roused from his 
afternoon siesta, in the act of reading the telegrams which 
he had just received. They were simply to the effect 
that the arsenal and government property at Harper's 
Ferry were in possession of a band of rioters, without 
describing their character. I promptly and breathlessly 
told what I had seen on the bulletin boards, and, while I 
was hurriedly delivering my news, other messengers arrived 
with telegrams to the same effect as those posted in the 
streets. The governor was by this time fully aroused. 
He was prompt in action. His first move was to seize 
the Virginia code, take a reference, and indite a telegram 
addressed to Colonel John Thomas Gibson, of Charles- 
town, commandant of the militia regiment within whose 
territory the invasion had occurred, directing him to order 
out, for the defense of the State, the militia under his 
command, and immediately report what he had done. 

Within ten minutes after the receipt of the telegram, 
these instructions were on the way. Similar instructions 
were flashed to Colonel Robert W. Baylor, of the Third 
Regiment of Militia Cavalry. 

The military system of the State was utterly inefficient, 

I having nothing but skeleton organization. The telegrams 

i continued to come rapidly, describing a condition of ex- 

j citement amounting to a panic in the neighborhood of 

Harper's Ferry. The numbers of the attacking force 

were exaggerated, until some reports placed them as high 

as a thousand. The ramifications of the conspiracy were 

of course unknown. 

I was promptly dispatched to summon the Secretary of 



120 THE END OF AN ERA 

the Commonwealth, the Adjutant-General, and the colonel 
and adjutant of the First Regiment. I found almost im- 
mediately all but the adjutant, for whom I searched long. 
At last this young gentleman was discovered, all uncon- 
scious of impending trouble, playing dominoes in a Ger- 
man restaurant, and regaling himself with the then 
comparatively new drink of " lager." Hurrying back 
with my last capture, we found the others assembled, and 
instantly the adjutant received instructions to order out 
the First Virginia Regiment at eight o'clock p. m., armed 
and equipped, and provided with three days' rations, at 
the Washington depot. 

In those days, the track ran down the centre of the 
street, and the depot was in the most popular portion of 
the city. News of the disturbance having gone abroad, it 
was an easy task to assemble the regiment ; and, by the 
time appointed, all Richmond was on hand to learn the 
true meaning of the outbreak, and witness the departure 
of the troops. Company after company marched through 
the streets to the rendezvous. The governor transferred 
his headquarters to the depot, where he and his staff 
awaited the last telegrams which might arrive before his 
departure. Telegrams were sent to the President and to 
the governor of Maryland for authority to pass through 
the District of Columbia and Maryland with armed 
troops, that route being the quickest to Harper's Ferry. 
The dingy old depot, generally so dark and gloomy at 
this hour of the night, was brilliantly illuminated. The 
train of cars, which was to transfer the trooj^s, stood 
in the middle of the street. The regiment was formed 
as the companies arrived, and was resting in the badly 
lighted street, awaiting final orders. 

The masses of the populace swarming about the sob 
diers presented every variety of excitement, interest, and 
curiosity. 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 121 

As for me, my " mannishness " (there is no other word 
expressive of it) was such that, forgetting what an insig- 
nificant chit I was, I actually attemjjted to accompany the 
troops. 

Transported by enthusiasm, I rushed home, donned a 
little blue jacket with brass buttons and a navy cap, 
selected a Virginia rifle nearly half as tall again as my- 
self, rigged myself with a powder-horn and bullets, and, 
availing myself of the darkness, crept into the line of 
K Company. The file-closers and officers knew me, and 
indulged me to the extent of not interfering with me, 
never doubting the matter would adjust itself. Other 
small boys, who got a sight of me standing there, were 
variously affected. Some were green with envy, while 
others ridicided me with pleasant suggestions concerning 
what would happen when father caught me. 

In time, the order to embark was received. I came to 
" attention " with the others, went through the orders, 
marched into the car, and took my seat. It really looked 
as if the plan was to succeed. Alas and alas for these 
hopes ! One incautious utterance had thwarted all my 
plans. When I went home to caparison myself for war, 
the household had been too much occupied to observe my 
preparations. I succeeded in donning my improvised 
uniform, secured my arms, and had almost reached the 
outer door of the basement, when I encountered Lucy, 
one of the slave chambermaids. 

" Hi ! Mars' John. Whar is you gwine ? " exclaimed 
Lucy, surprised. 

" To Harper's Ferry," was the proud reply, and off I 
sped. 

" I declar', I b'leeve that boy thinks hisself a man, sho' 
'nuff," said Lucy, as she glided into the house. It was 
not long before she told Eliza, the housekeeper, who in 



122 THE END OF AN ERA 

turn hurried to my invalid mother with the news. She 
summoned Jim, the butler, and sent him to father with 
the information. 

Now Jim, the butler, was one of my natural enemies. 
However the Southern man may have been master of the 
negro, there were compensatory processes whereby certain 
negroes were masters of their masters' children. Never 
wa^'s autocracy more absolute than that of a Virginia but- 
ler. Jim may have been father's slave, but I was Jim's 
minion, and felt it. There was no potentate I held in 
greater reverence, no tyrant whose mandates I heard in 
greater fear, no ogre whose grasp I should have felt with 
greater terror. This statement may not be fully appreci- 
ated by others, but will touch a responsive chord in the 
heart of every Southern-bred man who passed his youth in 
a household where " Uncle Charles," or " Uncle Henry," 
or " Uncle Washington," or uncle somebody, wielded the 
sceptre of authority as family butler. Bless their old souls, 
dead and gone, what did they want with freedom ? They 
owned and commanded everything and everybody that 
came into their little world. Even their own masters and 
mistresses were dependent upon them to an extent that 
only increased their sense of their own importance. What 
Southern boy will ever forget the terrors of that frown 
which met him at the front door and scanned his muddy 
foot-marks on the marble steps? What roar was ever 
more terrible — what grasp more icy or relentless — than 
those of his father's butler surprising him in the cake- 
box or the preserve-jar ? What criminal, dragged to jus- 
tice, ever appeared before the court more thoroughly 
cowed into subjection than the Southern boy led before 
the head of the house in the strong grip of that domestic 

despot? . , 

" What ! " exclaimed the governor, on hearing Jim s 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 123 

report of my escapade, " is that young rascal really try- 
ing to go ? Hunt him up, Jim ! Capture him ! Take 
away his arms, and march him home in front of 
you ! " Laughing heartily, he resumed his work, well 
knowing that Jim understood his orders and would exe- 
cute them. 

Think of such authority given to a negro, just when 
John Brown was turning the heads of the slaves with 
ideas of their own importance ! Is it not monstrous ? I 
was sitting in a car, enjoying the sense of being my coun- 
try's defender starting for the wars, when I recognized a 
well-known voice in the adjoining car, inquiring, " Gentle- 
men, is any ov you seed anythin' ov de Gov'ner's little boy 
about here ? I 'm a-lookin' fur him under orders to take 
him home." 

I shoved my long squirrel-rifle under the seats and fol- 
lowed it, amid the laughter of those about me. I heard 
the dread footsteps ai)proach, and the inquiry repeated. 
No voice responded ; but, by the silence and the tittering, 
I knew I was betrayed. A great, shiny black face, with 
immense whites to the eyes, peeped almost into my own, 
and, with a broad grin, said, " Well, I declar' ! Here 
I'you is at las' ! Cum out. Mars' John." But John did 
not come. Jim, after coaxing a little, seized a leg, and, 
as he drew me forth, clinging to my long rifle, he ex- 
claimed, " Well, 'fore de Lord ! how much gun has dat 
boy got, anyhow ? " and the soldiers went wild with laugh- 
ter. 

! In full possession of the gun, and pushing me before 
Ihim, Jim marched his prisoner home. Once or twice I 
made a show of resistance, but it was in vain. " Here, 
lyou boy ! You better mind how you cut yo* shines. 
You must er lost yo' senses. Yo' father told me to take 
you home. I gwine do it, too, you understand? Ef 



124 THE END OF AN ERA 

you don't mind, I '11 take you straight to him, and you 
know apd I know dat if I do, he '11 tare you up alive fur 
botherin' him with yo' foolishiss, busy ez he is." I real- 
ized that it was even so, and, sadly crestfallen, was deliv- 
ered into my mother's chamber, where, after a lecture 
upon the folly of my course, I was kept until the Harper's 
Ferry expedition was fairly on its way. 

What I learned of events at Harper's Ferry was de- 
rived from the testimony of others. The First Virginia 
Regiment reached Washington ; but, on arrival there, 
the Richmond troops returned, in consequence of the 
news of the capture of all the insurgents at Harper's 
Ferry by the United States Marines. 

This mad effort, so quickly and so terribly ended, was 
in itself utterly insignificant. John Brown, its leader, 
was the character of murderous monomaniac found at 
the head of every such desperate venture. He has often 
been described as a Puritan in faith and in type. It is not 
the province of this writer to inquire into the correctness 
of this classification. He was an uncompromising, blood- 
thirsty fanatic. Born in the year 1800, he lived for fifty- 
six years without any sort of prominence. He was never 
successful in business ventures, had farmed, raised sheep, 
experimented in grape culture, made wine, and engaged 
in growing and buying wool. At one time in his life, and 
up to a period not long before his death, he was regarded 
as an infidel by his associates, although at the time of his 
death he declared himself a true believer. In October, 
1855, he appeared in Kansas, and at once became promi- 
nent as a leader of armed bands of free-soilers. On his 
way to the defense of Lawrence, in 1856, he heard of the 
destruction which had taken place there, and turned back. -. 
He resolved to avenge the acts of the jjro-slavery horde. 
He reckoned up that five free-soil men had been killed, 



w 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 125 

and resolved that their blood should be expiated by an 
equal number of victims. 

" Without the shedding of blood, there is no remission 
of sins," was a favorite text with Brown. He called for 
volunteers to go on a secret expedition, and held a sort of 
Druidical conclave before starting out. Four sons, a son- 
in-law, and two others accompanied him. He had a 
strange power of imbuing his dupes with his own fanati- 
cism. When he avowed his purpose to massacre the 
pro-slavery men living on Pottawatomie Creek, one of his 
followers demurred. Brown said, " I have no choice. 
It has been decreed by Almighty God that I should make 
an example of these men." 

On Saturday night, May 24, 1856, John Brown and 
his band visited house after house upon Pottawatomie 
Creek, and, calling man after man from his bed, murdered 
five in cold blood. They first visited the house of Doyle, 
and compelled a father and two sons to go with them. 
The next morning, the father and one son were found 
dead in the road about two hundred yards from the house. 
The father was " shot in the forehead and stabbed in the 
breast. The son's head was cut open, and there was a 
hole in his jaw as though made by a knife." The other 
son was found dead about a hundred and fifty yards 
away in the grass, " his fingers cut off and his arms cut 
off, his head cut open, and a hole in his breast." 

Then they went to Wilkinson's, reaching there after 
midnight. They forced open the door and ordered him 
to go with them. His wife was sick and helpless, and 
begged them not to take him away. Her prayer was of 
no avail. The next day Wilkinson was found dead, " a 
gash in his head and side." 

Their next victim was William Sherman. When found 
in the morning, his " skull was split open in two places, 



126 THE END OF AN ERA 

and some brains were washed out. A large hole was cut 
in his breast, and his left hand was cut off, except a little 
piece of skin on one side." The execution was done with 
short cutlasses brought from Ohio by Brown. 

" It was said that on the next morning, when the old 
man raised his hands to Heaven to ask a blessing, they 
were still stained with the dry blood of his victims." ^ In 
his life by Sanborn is a picture of him made about this 
time. It represents him clean-shaven, and is, no doubt, 
the best picture extant by which to study the physiog- 
nomy of a man capable of these things. 

The tidings of these executions caused a cry of horror 
to go up, even in bloody Kansas. The squatters on 
Pottawatomie Creek, without distinction of party, met 
together and denounced the outrage and its perpetrators. 
The free-state men everywhere disavowed such methods. 
The governor sent a military force to the Pottawatomie 
to discover the assassins. The border ruffians took the < 
field to avenge the massacre. One Pate, feeling sure ; 
" Old Brown," as he was caUed, was the author of the t 
outrage, went in search of him. Brown met him, gave - 
battle, and captured Pate and his command. [ 

Kansas was in a state of civil war ; the governor or- (^ 
dered all armed companies to disperse ; and Colonel Sum- i 
ner, with fifty United States dragoons, forced Brown to r 
release his prisoners, but, although a United States i 
marshal was with him, made no arrests. 

This ffives an insicjht into the character of John 
Brown, " the martyr." Drunk with blood, inflamed by 
the death of one of his sons in these border feuds, 
impelled to further deeds of violence, no doubt, by the 
immunity secured from those committed in Kansas, John 
Brown began, as early as the fall of 1857, in far-away 

^ See Rhodes's History of the United States, vol. ii. p. 162, etc. 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 127 

Kansas, to formulate his plans for an outbreak in Vir- 
ginia. His confederate Cook, in his confession, has 
left the whole story. 

Inducing Cook and eight or ten others, over whom he 
seems to have possesed complete mastery, to join him, they 
started east to attend a military school, as it was said, in 
Ashtabula County, Ohio. The party united at Tabor, Iowa ; 
there, in the autumn of 1857, he revealed to this choice 
band that his ultimate destination was the State of Vir- 
ginia. His companions demurred at first, but his strong 
will prevailed. They shipped eastward two hundred 
Sharp's rifles that had been sent to Tabor for his Kansas 
enterprises the year previous. In May, 1858, Brown held 
a convention in Chatham, Canada, in a negro church, 
with a negro preacher for president, and adopted a con- 
stitution, which, without naming any territory to which 
it was to apply, said : " We, the citizens of the United 
States, and the oppressed people, who, etc., do ordain 
and establish for ourselves the following provisional con- 
stitution and ordinances." This constitution, drawn up 
by John Brown, and adopted by himself and half a 
dozen whites, and as many more negroes in Canada, 
provided for legislative, executive, and judicial branches 
of his government. It also provided for treaties of 
peace, for a commander-in-chief, for communism of pro- 
perty, for capturing and confiscating property, for the 
treatment of prisoners, and for many absurd things 
besides. After providing for the slaughter or the rob- 
bery of nearly everybody in the United States who 
did not join the organization, or voluntarily free their 
slaves and agree to keep the peace, it culminated in a 
declaration : — 

" Art. 46. The foregoing articles shall not be con- 
strued so as in any way to encourage the overthrow of 



128 THE END OF AN ERA 

any state government, or of the general government of 
the United States, and look to no dissolution of the i 
Union, but simply to amendment and repeal, and our i 
flag shall be the same as our fathers fought under in the 
Revolution." i 

No one can read the absurd jargon and believe that 
it was the product of the same brain. Yet the last 
declaration of the document is no more inconsistent with 
the facts than were the repeated declarations of Brown, , 
after he had killed a number of people at Harper's ■ 
Ferry, that he proposed no violence. Nor was it a whit ; 
more absurd than the pretended loyalty to State and ; 
country of those who ajjplauded his career of murder 
and robbery, and treason both state and national. i 

From May, 1858, to October, 1859, Brown pursued his , 
plans. He rented a farm near Harper's Ferry, and there ' 
collected his arms and ammunition, without exciting sus- ', 
picion. Delays occurred from lack of funds, etc. An i 
anonymous letter was sent to the Secretary of War, in 
the spring of 1859, revealing his plans and purposes, but f 
it seems to have made no impression, although the Secre- ? 
tary of War was a Soiithern man. f 

Shortly before Brown made his demonstration, his 1 
cohorts, to the number of twenty, black and white, 
assembled at his farmhouse, and Sunday night, October ; 
16, 1859, they descended upon Harper's Ferry. About ( 
10.30 P. M., they seized and captured the watchman upon 
the railroad bridge across the Potomac, and proceeded 
with him to the United States armory, of which they took 
possession. Brown then sent forth a party, headed by his ] 
lieutenant, Cook, to capture Colonel Lewis Washington 
and Mr. Allstadt, leading citizens, who were to be held as - 
hostages. These gentlemen were compelled to leave their ' 
beds, and accompany the invaders. Their slaves, to the 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 129 

number of thirty, were also compelled, against their 
will, to join the party. Colonel Washington was a grand- 
nephew of George Washington, and a member of the 
staff of the governor of Virginia. 

A sword of Frederick the Great, which had been pre- 
sented to George Washington, was " appropriated " for 
use by John Brown. At this point we are introduced to 
the word selected by Brown as descriptive of his taking 
other people's property. He did not call it stealing, or 
robbery, or violent seizure. He invariably referred to it 
as " appropriating," and he pronounced the word in a 
peculiar way, — putting the whole emphasis upon the 
second syllable, as if it were a-;9ro;j-riating. It was a 
favorite and oft-repeated word with him. Here also we see, 
in his appropriating the sword of Frederick the Great to 
be worn by himself, that overshadowing egotism which 
was one of his most prominent characteristics, — the inor- 
dinate vanity of lunacy. 

It was an ill omen for his venture that the first person 
killed by his band in the early morning was an inoffen- 
sive colored man, a porter at the railroad station, who, 
being ordered to stop and seeking to escape, was shot as 
he ran away. The next victim was a citizen killed stand- 
ing in his own door. The next, a graduate of West Point, 
who, having heard of the trouble at the Ferry, was shot 
from the armory as he rode into town on horseback 
armed with a gun. 

It is impossible to describe the consternation which 
these scenes produced among the citizens of Harper's 
Ferry. 

When the marines had completed their lawful and 
proper work the following morning, John Brown lay on 
the grass desperately wounded. His entire party was 
killed, wounded, or captured, and the dead bodies of two 



130 THE END OF AN ERA 

of his sons were beside him. It was a ghastly ending 
of a horrid venture. As has been truly said of it by an 
eminent Northern historian : " In the light of common 
sense, the plan was folly ; from a military point of view, 
it was absurd." The first question which arises in the 
mind of every one is, Did John Brow^ know the nature 
of his own acts? As far as man may answer such a 
question, he answered it himself on many occasions. 

While in the engine-house, receiving and returning 
the fire of the marines, one of his prisoners, Mr. Dain- 
gerfield, told him he was committing treason. One of his 
followers spoke up and said : " Captain Brown, are we 
guilty of treason in what we are doing ? I did not so 
understand it." 

" Certainly," said Brown, and coolly kept up his fire. 

When examined after his surrender, and upon his trial, 
he said he fully understood the nature of his acts and the 
consequences, and peremptorily refused to permit any 
plea of lunacy to be interposed in his defense. 

John Brown was tried for treason, murder, and inciting 
slaves to insurrection. His trial occupied six days. He 
was defended by able counsel, of his own selection, from 
Massachusetts and Ohio. Every witness he desired sum- 
moned appeared. The evidence of his guilt was over- 
whelming, and he was sentenced to death. Any other 
penalty would have been a travesty of justice, and a con- 
fession that the organized governments which he assailed 
were mockeries, afi^ording no protection to their citizens 
against midnight murder and assassination. Did the 
Virginians exult over the wretched victim of his own 
lawlessness ? NO ! 

The " New York Herald " published the account of 
how that verdict was received : " Not the slightest sound 
was heard in the vast crowd, as this verdict was returned 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 131 

and read; not tlie slightest expression of elation or tri- 
umph was uttered from the hundreds present. . . . Nor 
was this strange silence interrupted during the whole of 
the time occupied by the forms of the court." 

When Brown was asked if he had anything to say 
why sentence should not be pronounced, he said among 
other things : " I admire the truthfulness and candor of 
the greater portion of the witnesses who have testified. 
... I feel entirely satisfied with the treatment I have 
received on my trial. Considering all the circumstances, 
it has been more generous than I expected." He ad- 
mitted a design to free the slaves, but denied all inten- 
tion to commit treason, or murder, or violence in so doing,, 
and declared that in what he had done he felt fully justi- 
fied before God and man. 

There was nothing remarkable or unusual in talk like 
this by a man like that. It has been the usual jabber 
of desperate, unbalanced egotists and law-breakers since 
vanity, ignorance, and fanaticism produced the first 
assailant of organized government. It was heard again 
when Wilkes Booth, assassinating Lincoln, exclaimed: 
" ' Sic semper tyrannis ! ' " and again, when Guiteau slew 
Garfield, claiming that he served his country in commit- 
ting the base deed. 

The Virginians took the life of John Brown to preserve 
their own lives, and the lives of their wives and children, 
from destruction. He had, indeed, " whetted knives of 
butchery " for them, and had come a thousand miles to 
kill people who had never heard his name. 

Yet, when the majesty of the law was vindicated, they did 
not gloat over his dead body or mutilate his corpse, as he 
had done his Kansas victims. They did not boil his bones 
and articulate them to be hung in a public museum. When 
justice was satisfied, his body, unmutilated, was delivered 



132 THE END OF AN ERA 

to his wife to bear back to his home, and she is a witness 
to the fact that she was shown all the sympathy, all the 
tenderness, all the consideration, of which the awful situa- 
tion admitted. 

When the Vii'ginia people first came into possession of 
the facts of the John Brown fiasco, they did not believe 
the outrage had been promoted or would be justified by 
any considerable number of sane, law-abiding people 
anywhere. With an inborn love of courage, the bearing 
of John Brown was so feaidess throughout that, even in 
their anger at his impotent violence, they admired his 
fortitude. Even the governor of the State testified to 
this. Describing his appearance as he lay wounded 
before him, he said he could liken his attitude to nothing 
but "a broken-winged hawk lying upon his back, with 
fearless eye, and talons set for further fight if need be," 
and such was undoubtedly the man ; such have been 
many others like him. The quality of perfect courage, 
coupled with an unbalanced judgment, narrow-minded- 
ness, and fanaticism, has produced a hundred characters 
in history like Brown. Pity, pity, pity it is to see that 
splendid quality perverted and destroyed by such fatal 
accompaniments. It was with a genuine sigh of admira- 
tion for this fortitude that, without one doubt about their 
duty, the Virginians imposed the penalty for his crime 
upon John Brown. 

To one who knows the truth, the most tantalizing 
reflections upon the John Brown raid are these : The man 
who, as colonel in the army of the United States, 
captured Brown ; the governor of Virginia, under whose 
administration he was justly hung ; ay, a majority of 
tlio people of Virginia — were at heart opposed to slavery. 
Uninterrupted by madmen like Brown, they would have 
accomplished, in good time, the emancipation of the 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 133 

slave without the awful fratricidal scenes which he pre- 
cipitated. Of course there are those who will still deny 
this, and conclusive proof is impossible. History took its 
course. Yet it is hard that one madman was able to 
warp that course, and it is wrong to glorify him as saint 
and martyr, while men infinitely his superiors in intellect, 
in broad philanthropy, in civilization, and his equals in 
moral and physical courage, were driven by his folly into 
apparent advocacy of slavery. Neither Colonel Lee nor 
the governor of Virginia were champions of slavery. 
Both rejoiced at its final overthrow, even at the great 
price in blood and treasure at which it was accomplished. 
The fanaticism which applauded Brown's acts made them 
feel that there was no possible peace or union with such 
people, and made them resolve that, sooner than submit 
to such savage fraternity, they would fight for freedom 
from its dictation, its taunts, and its interference. 

When Virginia had performed her duty in executing 
Brown, her next step was to inquire what sympathy she 
received in the hour of her trial. She expected, as she 
had a right to expect, that the North, boasting of its 
superior civilization and its greater regard for the main- 
tenance of the laws protecting person and property, 
would be practically unanimous in condemnation. Even 
the half-civilized free-soilers of Kansas had denounced 
Brown's barbarism. 

When it was learned that, in many parts of the North, 
churches held services of humiliation and prayer ; that 
bells were tolled ; that minute-guns were fired ; that 
Brown was glorified as a saint ; that even in the legisla- 
ture of Massachusetts, eight out of nineteen senators 
had voted to adjourn at the time of his execution ; that 
Christian ministers had been parties to his schemes of 
assassination and robbery ; that women had canonized the 



134 THE END OF AN ERA 

bloodthirsty old lunatic as " St. John the Just ; " that 
philanthropists had pronounced him " most truly Chris- 
tian ; " that Northern poets like Whittier and Emerson 
and Longfellow were writing panegyrics upon him ; that 
Wendell Phillips and William Lloyd Garrison approved 
his life, and counted him a martyr, — then Virginians 
began to feel that an " irrepressible conflict " was indeed 
upon them. Still, they waited to ascertain how wide- 
spread this feeling was. 

Horace Greeley, editor of the " New York Tribune," 
the leading Republican journal of the North, contented 
himself with referring to Brown and his followers as 
"mistaken men," but added that he would "not by one 
reproachful word disturb the bloody shrouds wherein 
John Brown and his compatriots are sleeping." John 
A. Andrew, of Massachusetts, presided at a John Brown 
meeting, proclaiming that whether the enterprise was 
wise or foolish, John Brown himself was right. The 
next year, Mr. Andrew was elected governor of Massa- 
chusetts. The Northern elections in the month succeeding 
John Brown's raid showed gains to the Republicans in 
the North. Lincoln spoke in February, 1860, at Cooper 
Institute, New York. His comments on Brown were 
looked for with anxiety. He said John Brown's effort 
was " peculiar ; " and while he characterized it as absurd, 
he had no word of censure. Seward spoke soon after- 
wards in the Senate. He was a man of more refine- 
ment than Lincoln. He represented a constituency more 
highly civilized, and one in which a greater regard for 
law existed than in the West. He dared to say that 
Brown " attempted to subvert slavery in Virginia by 
conspiracy, ambush, invasion, and force," and to add that 
" this attempt to execute an unlawful purpose in Vir- 
ginia by invasion, involving servile war, was an act of 



THE JOHN BROWN RAID 135 

sedition and treason, and criminal in just the extent that 
it affected the public peace and was destructive of human 
hajjpiness and life." 

Seward's detestation of slavery was more widely known 
than Lincoln's. Up to that time, he had no formidable 
competitor for the Republican nomination for the presi- 
dency. It is not improbable that, in the then excited 
state of Northern feeling, the two candid admissions above 
quoted cost him the nomination for the presidency. 

While these scenes wei-e being enacted, a great change 
of feeling took place in Virginia towards the people of 
the North and towards the Union itself. Virginians 
began to look upon the people of the North as hating 
them, and willing to see them assassinated at midnight by 
their own slaves, led by Northern emissaries ; as flinging 
aside all pretense or regard for laws protecting the slave- 
owner ; as demanding of them the immediate freeing of 
their slaves ; or that they prepare against further attacks 
like Brown's, backed by the moral and j)ecuniary support 
of the North. 

During the year 1860, the Virginians began to organize 
and arm themselves against such emergencies. They knew 
that, while James Buchanan was President, the power of the 
federal administration could be relied upon to suppress 
such violence ; but they also knew that his term of office 
was nearly at an end, and they had little hope of such 
protection if the federal administration fell into the 
hands of the Republicans. While the State was still 
unprepared to secede, her citizens were a unit in the 
resolve that Northern fanatics, who thenceforth appeared 
on Virginia soil upon any such mission as that of John 
Brown, should " be welcomed with bloody hands to hos- 
pitable graves." 

When the troops came back from Harper's Ferry, they 



136 THE END OF AN ERA 

were amply supplied with songs. The first and most 
popular was one upon John Brown, sung to the tune 
of " The Happy Land of Canaan." It had a number 
of verses, only one of which I remember, running some- 
thing after this fashion : — 

" In Harper's Ferry section, there was an insurrection, 
John Brown thought the nig-gers would sustain him, 
But old master Governor Wise 
Put his specs upon his eyes, 
And he landed in the happy land of Canaan. 

REFRAIN. 

" Oh me ! Oh my ! The Southern hoys are a-trainin', 
We '11 take a piece of rope 
And march 'em up a slope, 
And land 'em in the happy land of Canaan." 

It is surjjrising how popular this rigmarole became 
through the South, and many a time during the war I 
heard the regiments, as they marched, sing verses from it. 
It is in contrast with the solemn swell of " John Brown's 
Body," as rendered by the Union troops. The latter 
is only an adaptation of a favorite camp-meeting hymn 
which I often heard the negroes sing, as they worked in 
the fields, long before the days of John Brown. The old 
words were : — 

" My poor body lies a-mouldering in the clay, 
My poor body lies a-mouldering in the clay, 
My poor body lies a-mouldering in the clay, 
While my soul goes marching on. 

KEFRAEN. 

" Glory, glory, hallelujah, 
Glory, glory, hallelujah, 
Glory, glory, hallelujah, 
As my soul goes marching on." 



CHAPTER X 

HOW THE " SLAVE-DKIVEKS " LIVED 

Our life during the year 1860 was in strange contrast 
with the busy and exciting scenes of 1858 and 1859. 
Father's term of office .expired January 1, 1860. He 
sold his plantation in Accomac, and bought another in the 
county of Princess Anne, near Norfolk. This change was 
due partly to domestic and partly to political considera- 
tions. 

During a period of rebuilding at " Rolleston," our new 
home, I was sent, January 1, 1860, to live with a favor- 
ite sister, and attend a private school presided over by 
the parish minister, a Master of Arts of the University 
of Virginia. The location was in the county of Gooch- 
land, about twenty miles west of Richmond, in the beauti- 
ful valley of the upper James. 

From Lynchburg, which is near the foot-hills of the 
Blue Ridge, the James River courses eastward to Rich- 
mond, a distance of about two hundred miles, through a 
valley of great fertility and beauty. The width of this 
valley seldom exceeds a mile, and at many points it is 
much narrower than that. The flat lands along the 
course of the stream are known as the " James River low 
grounds," an expression which conveys to the mind of the 
Virginian an idea of fatness and fecundity such as others 
conceive in reading of the valley of the Nile. About 
Lynchburg, high bluffs hang over the stream, and tlie flat 
lands are narrow and small in extent ; but from Howards- 



138 THE END OF AN ERA 

ville, in Albemarle, to Richmond, a hundred miles below, 
the valley broadens, and the bluffs grow less beetling as 
the gently rolling lands of lower Piedmont are reached. 
In general characteristics, the section resembles the val- 
leys of the Genesee and the Mohawk in New York, with a 
greater luxuriance of woodland and more extended vistas. 

Upon the swelling hills overlooking the James were 
built, at the time of which I write, for a distance of a 
hundred miles or more, the homes of many of the wealthi- 
est and most representative people of our State. 

No railroa,d penetrated the valley. The only means 
provided for transporting products to market was the 
James Kiver and Kanawha Canal, an enterprise projected 
by General Washington. It had been completed as far 
as Lexington, passing through the Blue Kidge Mountains 
at the point known as Balcony Falls, a spot suggestive of 
the Trosachs pass in Scotland. 

For their own transportation up and down the valley, 
these prosperous folk had private equipages and servants. 
When the distance was greater than a day's journey, the 
home of some friend, generally a kinsman, stood wide 
open for their entertainment. The canal was available 
upon emergency as a means of travel, but as its sjjeed 
was only about four miles an hour, few of the grandees 
resorted to it. A fine road ran along the foot-hills, par- 
allel with the canal and river, from Richmond to Char- 
lottesville, often keeping companionship for a mile or two 
with the route of the canal. The hills were of that stiff 
red clay celebrated afar for its adaptability to corn and 
tobacco ; and the soil of the low grounds, often refreshed 
and rejuvenated by the overflow of the James, was a deep 
alluvial deposit of chocolate loam, inexhaustible in rich- 
ness and fertility, and producing all the cereals in mar- 
velous abundance. 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 139 

Recalling a few of the princely dwellers in this favored 
section, one remembers the Cabells of Nelson ; the Gaits 
of Albemarle ; the Cockes of Fluvanna ; the Hubards of 
Buckingham ; the Boilings of Boiling Island and Boiling 
Hall ; the Harrisons of Ampthill, and Clifton, and Elk 
Hill ; the Hobsons of " Howard's Neck," and " Snowden," 
and " Eastwood ; " the Flemings of " West View ; " the 
Rutherfords of " Rock Castle ; " General Philip St. 
George Cocke of " Belle Mead ; " the Skipwiths ; the 
Logans of " Dungeness ; " the Seldens of " Orapax " and 
of "Norwood; " the Warwicks; the Michaux of Michaux's 
Ferry ; the Morsons of " Dover ; " the Seddons of " Sabot 
Hill ; " the Stanards of " Bendover; " the Aliens of "Tuck- 
ahoe ; " and many others : — 

" Their swords are rust, 
Their bodies dust ; 
Their soids are with the saints, we trust." 

Scattered along the valley, owning respectively from 
seven hundred to two or three thousand acres, with slaves 
enough to cultivate twice the lands they owned, they were 
the happiest and most prosperous community in all Amer- 
ica ; not rolling in wealth, like the sugar cane and cotton 
planters of the South, yet with a thousand advantages 
over them, in the variety of their productions, in the 
beauty of their lands, in the salubrity of their climate, in 
the society about them, and in their access to the outer 
world. 

The home of my sister was on one of these fine James 
River estates, and her neighbors were of the most highly 
cultivated people of whom that region boasted. The 
plantation had been purchased from Colonel Trevillian, 
descendant of an old Huguenot family, and its name, 
"Eastwood," had been bestowed by its former owner, 
Peyton Harrison. My brother-in-law, after an education 



140 THE END OF AN ERA 

in Europe, had essayed business, but ill-health compelled 
him to adopt a country life. The house stood in a grove 
of oaks of original growth, in the midst of an extensive 
lawn carpeted with greensward. Behind it were the sta- 
bles, the inclosures, and the household servants' quarters. 
In front, half a mile away, were the low grounds and 
river ; and to the left again, half a mile distant, stood the 
overseer's house, the quarters of the farm hands, and 
the farm stables. Up and down the river were visible 
the handsome residences of the neighbors. On remote 
hillsides or in the wooded points, one saw, here and there, 
great barns of brick or wood for storing wheat or corn, 
and houses where tobacco was stripped and hung, and 
smoked and dried, and pressed into hogsheads. Intermi- 
nable lines of stone or post and oak fences, without one 
missing panel, showed, as few other things in farming do 
show, the prosperity of the owners of these lands. Great 
fields — this one pale green with winter wheat, this sere 
and brown in pasture land, this red with newly ploughed 
clods, and this with a thousand hillocks whence the 
tobacco had been gleaned — were spread out to the vision, 
clean of weeds and undergrowth, and cultivated until they 
looked like veritable maps of agriculture. 

Near at hand, or far away upon the hillsides, one be- 
held the working-bands of slaves, well clothed, well fed, 
and differing from other workmen, as we see them now, 
chiefly in their numbers and their cheerfulness and their 
comfortable clothing. Remarkable as the statement may 
seem, those slaves, over whose sad fate so many tears have 
been shed, went about their work more joyously than any 
laboring people I ever saw. 

Our school was located a mile away, in rear of the river 
plantations, upon a road leading to what was known as 
" the back country." A little church, built from the pri- 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 141 

vate contributions of the river planters, was used as the 
schoolhouse. It was near the parsonage. That point was 
selected, not only for its convenience to the teacher, but 
also because of its accessibility to the children of the 
smaller farmers in this " back country." It is often said 
that antagonism existed between this humbler class of 
whites and the wealthy nabobs living upon the river. 
Perhaps there may have been something of the inevidtable 
envy which the less fortunate feel everywhere towards the 
prosperous and great, but certain it is, there was little 
manifestation of it there. The wealthy sought in every 
way to be upon good terms with the poor ; and one of the 
best proofs that they succeeded is found in the fact that, 
when war came, the two stood up together side by side, 
and fought and slept and ate and died together, — never 
thinking of which was rich or which was poor, until a time 
when such as survived were all poor together, and those 
who had always been poor were in their turn the more 
fortunate of the two. 

Our nearest neighbors were the Seddons, — one of the 
loveliest families of people that ever lived. The head of 
the house was a gentleman who, after a thorough educa- 
tion, had achieved distinction at the bar and in Congress, 
but, owing to delicate health, had retired to his planta- 
tion. He entertained extreme views on the subjects of 
slavery and the nullification doctrines of Calhoun ; but 
for years he had, owing to precarious health, taken no 
active part in politics. Polished in manners, gentle in 
his bearing, hospitable and considerate in all things, he 
captivated visitors to his home as soon as they entered it. 
And in whatever he failed, his wife more than atoned 
for it by her graciousness. She was the accomplished 
heiress, Sally Bruce. She and her sister Ellen, both 
beautiful in person and in eliaracter, and thoroughly edu- 



142 THE END OF AN ERA 

cated, took Richmond society by storm upon tlieir first 
appearance there in the 40's, and succumbed at last to 
the blandishments of two young cousins, married them, 
bought adjoining plantations in Goochland, and were 
now rearing their children side by side. Such were the 
families of Hon. James A. Seddon and James M. Morson, 
Esq. 

Some of the happiest days of my childhood, some 
of the most elevating, purifying, and refining hours of 
all my life, were passed in these two households. Both 
Mr. and Mrs. Seddon were accomplished linguists, and 
demanded that their children should be as well educated 
as themselves. Their library was supplied with the best 
thought of the world, and the course of literary culture 
prescribed by them for their children was not only com- 
prehensive, but was made attractive by the way in which 
it was pursued. Often the evening gatherings of the 
family were converted into reading classes, and, with the 
charming voice of their mother added to the attraction of 
the subject, the children became interested. That charm- 
ing voice ? Yes, one of the sweetest that ever sang. Not 
only was she an admirable performer upon the piano, but 
when she sang, accompanying herself upon the harp, she 
was a very nightingale. Her tender Scotch ballads never 
were surpassed upon the stage. 

Love, intellectuality, refinement, hospitality, made that 
home an abode fit for the most favored of mortals ; and 
her care for their welfare made " Mis' Sallie " the ideal, 
in the minds of the servants, of what an angel would be 
in the world to come. The children ? They were numer- 
ous as the teeth in a comb. Three of the Seddon boys, 
ranging from a year older to two years younger than my- 
self, were ray sworn allies. Morning, noon, and night, we 
were together. Of course we all had horses, — everybody 



ii 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 143 

had a horse. Often the three Seddon boys rode to school 
upon the back of one filly, with a young darkey to fetch 
her home. Their route brought them directly past the 
Eastwood gate, and many a day in 1860 that blessed filly 
took upon her back a fifth rider, as I slipped down from 
the gatepost where I had awaited their coming. And 
many a head-punching I received from the combined 
forces of the Seddons because I tickled that filly in the 
flank, and made her kick until she tumbled the entire 
load, four white boys and a darkey, into the muddy road, 
and then, kicking at us, scampered away, leaving us to 
fish our Horaces and Livys and Virgils out of the mud, 
and walk the remainder of the way to school. 

The Morson children, first cousins of the Seddons, were 
also numerous ; and while their residence was at a little 
distance from ours, the families were frequently together. 
At school, during the week, plans were made for the 
afternoons and Saturdays, and we ranged the whole 
country-side, shooting, or riding, or visiting. 

A favorite amusement was excursions up the canal in 
our own boat, drawn by our own team, to a famous fishing- 
place at " Maiden's Adventure " dam. Thither boys and 
girls repaired together, making quite a boatload, taking 
baskets of luncheon and spending the day. 

The school-teacher, the Rev. Mr. Dudley, was an effi- 
cient man, who demanded that his pupils should study 
hard, and was not at all squeamish about the proper use 
of hickory. Notwithstanding this, he was popular, and 
joined in the sports at recess with genuine zest. One of 
our favorite games was called " Germany," or " Cher- 
mony," in which a paddle, a certain number of holes in a 
row, and a hard rubber ball were used. Under certain 
regulations, each player claimed a hole in the ground, and, 
when the ball went into it, was privileged to hit some 



144 THE END OF AN ERA 

one else with the ball. Mr. Dudley was a large, fleshy 
man, and it was noticeable that, while the boys were 
always delighted to have him in the game, he was hit 
about twice as often as all the boys put together. How- 
ever much he may have compelled them to rub themselves 
in school, the boot was very much on the other leg in these 
little outside pastimes ; so much so, that Parson Dudley, 
after being " roasted " for a long time, appeared to lose 
his enthusiasm for the game. 

It was during the recess hour, on a bright May day in 
1860, that a boy rode by, returning perhaps from Rich- 
mond, and gave Mr. Dudley a copy of a newspaper. No 
sooner had he disposed himself comfortably to read the 
news, leaving us boys to our diversions, than with a loud 
exclamation he broke forth, " Ah ! that settles it. I 
feared as much. Abe Lincoln is nominated for President. 
He will be elected, and that means war." 

I, who was now in my fourteenth year, and deeply 
interested in political matters, was anxious to know why 
Mr. Lincoln's election portended war any more than that 
of any one else. 

" Well," said Mr. Dudley, perfectly sincere in every 
word he spoke, " Mr. Seward was the logical candidate of 
the Republican party, entitled to the nomination by supe- 
rior ability and by long service. He is a man of very 
pronounced anti-slavery views, but is a gentleman by birth 
and association, and if elected President, would respect 
his constitutional obligations and the rights of the South- 
ern States. Everybody expected him to be the nominee ; 
but his course and utterances of late, especially his utter- 
ances concerning old John Brown, are not radical enough 
to suit the Black Republicans. On the other hand, this 
man Lincoln has come to the front, venomous and vindic- 
tive enough to satisfy the most rabid abolitionist." He 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 145 

then proceeded to draw a picture of Lincoln horrible 
enough. He told how he was, in his origin, of that class 
of low whites who hate gentlemen because they are gentle- 
men; how, in personal appearance, he was more like a 
gorilla than a human being ; how he possessed the arts and 
cunning of the demagogue to a degree sufficient to build 
himself up by appealing to the prejudices of his own class 
against gentlemen ; and how, in his joint debates with 
Douglas, who had completely overmastered him, he had 
nevertheless brought himself into notice, and secured the 
nomination of his party, by going far beyond other lead- 
ers in advocacy of radical measures against slaveiy, and 
in abuse of the South. 

That settled Abraham Lincoln with me. I was thor- 
oughly satisfied that no such man ought to be President ; 
but I could not yet conceive it possible that such a mon- 
ster would be the choice of a majority of the people for 
President. Lincoln's nomination did not, however, inter- 
fere with my happiness or appetite. In fact, I had faith 
in the triumph of Mr. Lincoln's opponents. 

A few days after this, I accompanied my sister and 
brother-in-law to a breakfast at the Stanards'. 

In course of conversation at table, the nomination of 
Lincoln was discussed. That gave rise to the inquiry, on 
the part of our hostess, whether her guests had read the 
remarkable sermon recently delivered in the city of New 
Orleans by the Rev. Dr. Palmer, an eminent Presbyterian 
divine, upon " The Divine Origin of Slavery." As none 
of her guests had seen it, and all expressed the desire to 
do so, a servant was sent to the library for the newspaper, 
and one of the company proceeded to read aloud the sali- 
ent points of Dr. Palmer's address. Undoubtedly, from his 
standpoint, the great minister put the case very strongly. 
His arguments were, however, chiefly based upon the 



146 THE END OF AN ERA 

divine sanction of the patriarchal institutions of the Old 
Testament. I was not a profound Biblical scholar, but a 
number of very good women had spent a greal deal of 
time, during the brief space of my life, hammering into 
my head portions of the Old Testament. It so happened 
also that during breakfast that morning the Mormon doc- 
trines of Brigham Young had come up for discussion, 
for Brigham was much in evidence then, and everybody, 
especially the ladies, had joined in denouncing him as 
monstrous. 

The reading of Dr. Palmer's sermon occupied some 
time. It bored me, but I found no opportunity to escape. 
At its conclusion, the company agreed that it was an 
able and conclusive argument. Mrs. Stanard, who was a 
witty woman given to facetious remarks, declared a pur- 
pose to mail a copy of the sermon to Abe Lincoln. I, 
who was inclined to be pert as well as facetious, proposed 
to send another copy to Brigham Young. " For," said 
I, " every argument of Dr. Palmer, based on the slavery 
of the Old Testament, is equally available for Brigham 
Young in support of polygamy ; and I sympathize with 
Brigham." 

It is unnecessary to add that the assembled guests, in 
their disgust at my " pertness," dropped the argument on 
slavery. 

Soon after this breakfast, I witnessed the first parade 
of the Goochland Troop. The John Brown invasion had 
given a pronounced impetus to the military spirit of Vir- 
ginia. In almost every county, new military organizations 
had sprung up. As the Goochland folk were rich, owners 
of fine horseflesh, and every man of them a horseman 
from his childhood, it was natural that they organized a 
command of cavalry. 

During the winter, the plan was conceived. The first 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 147 

meeting looking to its consummation was held at February 
court. The j)reliminary drilling began in the early spring. 
And now in May, for the first time, the troop assembled 
in full uniform for drill and inspection. Julieu Harrison, 
of Elk Hill was its commandant. Mr. Hobson, my bro- 
ther-in-law, at whose house I lived, was the first lieutenant. 
The company was composed of the very flower of the 
aristocracy of the James River valley, and the capital 
invested in the arms, uniforms, and the horseflesh of the 
Goochland Troop would have equipped a regiment of 
regulars. 

At their first parade and review, they were the guests 
of the master of Eastwood. Every man vied with every 
other in his mount. There were not ten horses in the 
company less than three quarters thoroughbred. It was 
indeed a gallant sight, — those spirited youngsters, men, 
and beasts. The uniforms of the privates were fine 
enough for major-generals. Their arms they bought 
themselves, — the carbines and pistols from Colt, the 
sabres from Horstmann. The shabrack of a Goochland 
trooper cost more money than the whole equipment of a 
Confederate cavalryman three years later. Little did 
they realize then that within a year they would be part 
of the best regiment in the brigade of the immortal Stuart, 
and that they would pass into history as the " Black Horse 
Cavalry," — a bugaboo scarcely less terrible to the imagina- 
tion of their foe than " masked batteries." There was, in 
fact, but one company in the Confederacy called " Black 
Horse Troop," and that came from Fauquier County ; but 
they were counted by thousands in the imagination of the 
Union soldiers. 

Many years afterwards, in conversation with a Union 
veteran, something was said of handsome cavalry. He 
remarked that the most vivid picture of a perfect soldier 



148 THE END OF AN ERA 

retained by his mind was that of a Confederate cavalry 
officer named Captain Julian Harrison, of the Fourth 
Virginia Cavalry, who bore a flag of truce in 1861 into 
the Union lines at Manassas. 

The thing which most impressed itself iipon me, during 
my residence in Goochland in 1860, was the marked dif- 
ference between slavery upon these extensive plantations 
and slavery as it existed in the smaller establishments 
which I had theretofore known. It could not be truly 
said of these people that they were cruel to their slaves, 
but it was certainly true that the relations between master 
and slave were nothing like so close or so tender as those 
with which I had been theretofore familiar. The size of 
the plantations and the number of slaves were such that 
it was necessary to employ farm managers or overseers, 
and to have separate establishments, removed from the 
mansion house, where the overseers resided, surrounded 
by the laborers on the plantation. 

As a consequence, the master and his family saw little 
of this class of servants, and the servants saw and knew 
little of the master. There was lacking that intimate 
acquaintance and sympathy with each other which ameli- 
orated the condition of the slaves where the farm was 
small, the servants few, and no overseer came between 
master and servant. 

Wealthy men, too, like several of those in our neighbor- 
hood, had so many slaves that they were compelled to buy 
other plantations on which to employ them. For example, 
Mr. Morson owned nearly eight hundred negroes. In 
order to sustain them, he purchased large plantations in 
Mississippi. A portion of his time was passed there look- 
ing after his interests, and thither, from time to time, it 
was, in the nature of the case, necessary to transfer some 
of his Virginia slaves ; for they increased rapidly, and the 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 149 

Virginia plantation could furnish employment and sus- 
tenance for only a limited number. Such transfers were 
made as humanely as possible. Families were removed 
together, in order to avoid harassing separations, and the 
change bore as lightly as possible upon the blacks. But, 
after all, it was an unsympathetic proceeding; for the 
negro race has the strongest of local attachments, and old 
Virginia was, and still is, the dearest spot of earth to the 
native darkey. 

The weeping and wailing among those who were ordered 
South was pitiful. Although they were going to their 
master's plantation, it was in a strange land and under 
the government of unknown peoj)le, who felt none of the 
softening influences of early associations. Above all, it 
was without regard to any consideration of their wishes or 
their prejudices, and the expression of either would have 
been vain. 

The slaves upon our place presented another repulsive 
feature of the institution. The master and mistress were 
both young persons of jsure, elevated Christian lives, in- 
capable of brutality, and most ambitious to deserve and to 
possess the loyal love of their slaves. They could have 
had no country establishment without the possession of 
slaves ; and, both being members of large families, they 
could not hope to acquire by gift a sufficient number of 
slaves to carry on their plantation. As a consequence, 
they were compelled to buy the essential quota. These 
purchases were made by families, as far as possible, but 
the aggregate was made up of negroes who came from dif- 
ferent places, and were strangers to each other. Great cir- 
cumspection was exercised in the effort to secure the proper 
kind of servants, and large prices were paid in order to 
secure such. But everybody knows how little reliance is to 
be placed in the advance characters given to servants, and 



150 THE END OF AN ERA 

how often, when strange servants are brought together, un- 
foreseen incompatibilities of temperament, or new condi- 
tions, affect them. Thus it was that the new establishment 
at " Eastwood," wealthy and luxurious as it seemed, 
had its troubles and its trials like all the rest of the world. 
The darkeys were jealous of each other. The ones repre- 
sented as marvels of diligence and obedience turned out 
to be lazy and impertinent. And so it went. The most 
flagrant instance of this kind was a butler named Tom, a 
handsome fellow, quick, intelligent, and represented as a 
phenomenal servant. When Tom arrived, he was a joy 
and a comfort to master and mistress, and they felt that 
he was worth the $2500 they had paid for him. In a 
little while, Tom appeared, from time to time, in a condi- 
tion of excitement or irritability or stupor, and his con- 
duct was exceedingly perplexing. Suspecting liquor as 
the cause of his strange behavior, strict watch was kept 
upon the wine cellar and the sideboard, but no liquor was 
missed. At last, Tom developed a distinct case of mmila 
a potu, and then it was discovered that he had been 
steadily imbibing from a large demijohn of alcohol to 
which he had access. As his distemper developed an in- 
clination to knock the heads off his fellow servants, male 
and female, on the slightest provocation, his presence made 
matters very uncomfortable ; and while his first offense 
was overlooked and forgiven, under solemn pi-omises of 
reform, he soon relapsed into bad habits, and became so 
violent that it was necessary to have him seized and bound 
by Alick the gardener and Ephraim the hostler, in order 
to prevent murder. 

Now, what would our humane and philanthropic friend, 
Mrs. Hai-riet Beecher Stowe, think of a case like this? 
And how would the dear old lady have disposed of it ? 
This was one of many of the perplexing situations of sla- 



HOW THE "SLAVE-DRIVERS" LIVED 151 

very. There was nothing to do with Tom but to sell him 
with all his infirmities on his head. Of course the aboli- 
tionist will say it was awful ; but to have given him away 
would have been imposing upon the friend to whom he 
was presented, and to set him free was offering a premium 
to drunkenness and faithlessness. Tom shed tears of re- 
pentance, and the family shed tears of regret and humilia- 
tion. But as there were young children and women all 
about him, — women and children of his own race as well 
as the white race, — and as he was liable to get drunk 
and violent, and to knock the heads off of any or all of 
them at any moment, the question recurs on the original 
proposition. What was to be done with Tom ? 

But enough of these instances. This and many others 
only confirmed me in the opinion, planted when I saw the 
sale of Martha Ann, and growing steadily thereafter, that 
slavery was an accursed business, and that the sooner my 
people were relieved of it, the better. 

June came, and with it the end of the school term and 
my return to my father's home. I had made decided ad- 
vances in knowledge. I had read the first six books of 
Virgil ; been drilled in Racine and Moliere and Voltaire ; 
finished Davies's Legendre ; and was fairly embarked in 
algebra, besides a good grounding in ancient and modern 
history and a smattering of natural philosophy. 

So I boxed my books, packed my trunk, gathered to- 
gether my effects, — including my gun, with which I had 
become quite proficient, and a coop containing a game- 
cock and pullets of the choicest James River stock, — and 
hied myself homeward. 



CHAPTER XI 

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM — THE CLOUDBURST 

The proverb tliat a calm precedes a storm was never 
better illustrated than in the peaceful days of the sum- 
mer and autumn of 1860, and the winter of 1860-61. 

Our new home opened up a phase of existence entirely 
different from any I had theretofore known. Although 
it was within five miles of the city of Norfolk, which was 
easily reached either by land or by water, Rolleston, my 
father's new plantation, was as secluded a spot as if no 
city had been within a hundred miles. It was the ancient 
seat of the Moseley family, one of the oldest in the State. 
Located upon the eastern branch of the Elizabeth River, 
it embraced, besides a broad area of cultivation, a hand- 
some body of timber of original growth, running from the 
water's edge back for a mile or more. The dwelling and 
curtilage were near the river, and the cultivated land, 
which was on its easternmost side, was bounded by a 
large millpond. Across the mouth of the pond a dam 
was erected, with floodgates admitting the tide and con- 
fining it at high water for the use of a gristmill. 

Beside the gristmill, the new purchaser erected a saw- 
mill on the woodland tract for his own use in erecting 
new buildings, and for the sale of lumber in the adjacent 
city. When I reached the place, a number of mechanics 
were remodeling the dwelling, and building new farm- 
houses and barns. Every boy who has lived on a farm 
knows the joys of the youthful heart at having access to 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 153 

a carpenter's bench, and to all the lumber and tools and 
nails he wants. 

Besides myself, I had as companions and playmates 
my brother, a nephew near my own age, a white boy, — 
the son of the miller, — and my own slave, black John. 
From rosy morn till dewy eve, during all the vacation of 
1860, this precious company was busy with new enter- 
prises. The adjacent waters swarmed with fish and terra- 
pin and crabs and oysters and clams, and every variety of 
sea food. The fields and forests and marshes abounded 
with game. The Elizabeth River was a beautiful sheet of 
water for sailing, and father had provided himself with 
the stanchest and fastest boats to be obtained. 

The milldam and pond were our favorite rallying-jjoint. 
There we anchored our craft, and fished and swam and 
sailed our miniature boats, and engaged in the many pas- 
times which make boyhood so happy a period. To-day, 
we were occupied, busy as bees, building hen-houses. To- 
morrow, the all-engrossing subject was a new boat, devised 
and constructed by ourselves. Another time, we might be 
seen, all hands, riding the high side of our fastest boat in 
a clipping sail to Norfolk, and, again, bending to the oars 
like tried seamen, rowing homeward in a calm. To-day 
would be devoted to fishing in deep water, to-morrow to 
crabbing on the shoals ; another time, to setting weir mats 
across the mouths of the little estuaries to catch " fat- 
backs " or jumping mullets when the tide went out ; and 
another time, the whole company would be busy baiting 
and sinking terrapin traps. Sometimes we would drive 
away in the farm-carts to Lambert's or Garrison's Fishing 
Shores, ten miles away upon the Chesapeake Bay, to 
seine-hauling, from which we would return at evening, 
our carts loaded down with fish for salting and use during 
the winter season. On other days, we made up fishing 



154 THE END OF AN ERA 

excursions in our sloop, the Know-Nothing, down to 
the deep waters of Hampton Roads, for sea trout and 
sheepshead. Every day had its new and busy occupation 
and delight, and for several months we never put shoes 
upon our feet, save when we were called upon to visit the 
city. With great straw hats and brown-linen shirts, and 
trousers rolled up above our knees, we were almost am- 
phibians, and were sunburnt as brown as Indians. 

It may not have been a period of great intellectual 
growth, but it certainly was a time in which our physical 
health was highly developed, and the qualities of enter- 
prise and self-reliance were highly stimulated. 

In the month of August, the Great Eastern, the largest 
ship then afloat, came to Hampton Roads, which was the 
signal for a general holiday, and everybody who was 
anybody, far and near, went to visit her. We went 
down the harbor with Captain Oliver upon our sloop, 
the Know-Nothing, to inspect the English monster. From 
the city to the Roads where the Great Eastern lay, ten 
miles below, the waters of Norfolk harbor were alive with 
river-craft, crowding all sails and decked in their best 
bunting, firing small cannon and waving salutes. We 
had bent the racing-sails of the Know-Nothing for the 
occasion, and she showed her heels not only to the vessels 
of her own class, but to many far larger than herself. I 
was very proud of being one of the company of the smart- 
est craft in Norfolk waters. 

The Great Eastern, it will be remembered, was an im- 
mense ship, of a length and size never since equaled, 
unless it be by the new steamer Oceanic, now under con- 
struction. She was 680 feet in length, with a width of 
beam of over 80 feet, and a draft of 27 feet of water. 
Her contrast with other ships of that time was, however, 
much greater than it would be with the ships of to-day. 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 155 

In general outline, she was, of course, very much like 
other vessels of her kind. When she first came in view, 
I felt disappointed ; for there were no other objects near 
her with which to contrast her. But after a large steamer 
of the Old Dominion line passed the Know-Nothing on the 
way down the harbor, looming high above us, and rocking 
us in her wake until our washboards were almost sub- 
merged, and then passed on towards the Great Eastern, 
where, by the side of the latter, she appeared to be no 
larger than a tug, I began to realize the size of the mag- 
nificent newcomer. When the Know-Nothing sailed up 
and around the visitor, her topmast not five feet above 
the rail of the Great Eastern, the matter grew plainer ; 
and when our party boarded the Great Eastern and 
traversed the great spaces within, I found it difficult to 
realize that she was the work of men, or that the colossal 
whole moved and was directed in every motion by the 
control of one human mind. 

While the ship proved a failure, the ideas first advanced 
in her were developed and applied to other ventures, in 
such a manner that she produced a revolution in the con- 
struction of ships for merchant marine service, little less 
marked than that in naval warfare resulting from the 
conflict in Hampton Roads two years later. 

The visit of the Prince of Wales to America occurred 
about the same time as the arrival of the Great Eastern. 

I was to remain at home during the next school year. 
One of our neighbors, with a large family, had secured 
the services of a young university graduate as private 
tutor, and I was to attend his school, about two miles dis- 
tant. Consequently, early in September, I went to Gooch- 
land to bring back some schoolbooks and other belong- 
ings. It was on this visit that I happened to be in 
Eichmond at the time of the visit of the Prince of Wales, 



156 THE END OF AN ERA 

and was in St. Paul's Church upon the Sunday when the 
prince attended divine worship there. 

During- our residence in Richmond, many eminent Eng- 
lishmen had visited the city from time to time, and a 
mere English lord was no very great sight ; but my inter- 
est was most decided in a British heir-apparent not much 
older than myself. 

The young fellow was a typical Anglo-Saxon. His 
tawny hair, fair complexion, and blue eyes were exactly 
what one familiar with the type would have expected to 
see. At that time, he was rather slight in build, and did 
not display the best of physical development. His shoul- 
ders were drooping, and his hijis rather broad ; his move- 
ments were awkward, and his manner altogether boyish. 
I had no opportunity to converse with him, for, being a 
small boy, I secured no introduction ; but I saw him sev- 
eral times, and wondered at the deference shown to him 
by the distinguished-looking old gentlemen who were his 
traveling companions, as well as by several of the leading 
citizens, friends of my father, by whom the prince was 
entertained. 

One who saw him in 1860 would find it difficult to 
discover in the stout, bald, elderly, well-fed man of the 
world, still known as the Prince of Wales, whom I saw 
in London several years ago, any trace of the awkward 
boy who visited Richmond in 1860. 

Never had boy more glorious liberty or greater vari- 
ety of sport, and never did reckless youth pursue its bent 
more indifferent to the graver affairs going on about it. 
One day in October, I drove into Norfolk, and, seeing a 
great crowd assembled, paused and heard part of a speech 
by Stephen A. Douglas. I was greatly impressed by his 
tremendous voice, every tone of which reached me more 
than a block away, and I loudly applauded his Union sen- 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 157 

timents. But having obtained the supply of powder and 
shot I needed, I soon forgot Douglas. Not long after- 
wards, I heard, without its making a great impression 
upon me, that on one of those gorgeous November days 
Douglas had been defeated for President, and Abraham 
Lincoln had been elected President of the United States. 
More than once I heard, without believing it, that there 
was serious and imminent danger of civil war as a re- 
sult. "Let it come," was my only reflection; "who's 
afraid ? " 

Before the close of the year 1860, many men from 
Southern States rode out to Rolleston from Norfolk to 
visit and confer with father about the course Virginia 
would pursue in view of that of South Carolina and 
other States. Some of them remained to meals, and 
some stayed overnight, and so I heard their conversa- 
tions. Some of them had new and strange flags pinned 
upon their lapels, or little palmetto rosettes, which they 
gave me. When I visited the city, I heard new tunes 
like " Dixie " and " The Bonnie Blue Flag ; " and men 
said that Virginia would secede with other Southern 
States. But father still declared that he was opposed to 
secession, and believed that, if any fight was necessary, 
the South should " fight in the Union." I did not know 
what it all meant, and did not believe it could result in 
actual war, and in fact had become so engrossed in the 
pleasures of life at Rolleston that I gave little attention 
to aught else but the pursuit of my boyish diversions. 

I was a little over fourteen years of age when the civil 
war began. No pair of eyes and ears in all America 
were mox-e alert than mine. Every event, as it wound off 
the reel of time, excited my most intense interest, and 
made its indelible impression. 

As State after State passed ordinances of secession, the 



158 THE END OF AN ERA 

disunion sentiment gained ground in Virginia. Fatlier 
was hotly opposed to secession, but he always coupled 
that declaration with the further one that he was equally 
opposed to Northern coercion. 

The Virginia legislature called a convention to consider 
what course the State should take in the impending crisis. 
The election for delegate from our county, Princess Anne, 
was exciting, and the result was in great doubt. Father 
was a candidate, opposed by Edgar Burroughs, Esq., a 
popular and outspoken Union man. Mr. Burroughs was 
a native of the county, had a large family connection, and 
was supported by a strong following, who wanted neither 
secession nor fighting. It required all the prestige of my 
father's name, and a careful declaration of his modified 
views upon secession, to elect him, and he was returned 
by a small majority. 

Poor Burroughs, like many another who resisted seces- 
sion to the last, went into the Confederate service, and 
sacrificed his life for his State. 

The convention remained in session a long time before 
it took decisive action. When it assembled, it was com- 
posed of a safe majority of Union men, and a minority of 
secessionists. My father held unique views, and had a 
very small following. Opposing secession, he at the same 
time advocated preparations by the State for defense 
against what he considered the threatened aggression of 
the federal government. In his own book, " Seven De- 
cades of the Union," he has fully set forth what he meant 
when he advocated "fighting in the Union." It is suffi- 
cient to say that, at the time, his views were regarded as 
impracticable, and that he failed to impress them upon 
the body, or to gain any considerable following. 

,The issue seemed likely to be decided in favor of the 
Union men, until the occurrence of two events which pre- 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 159 

cipitated secession. The first of these was the firing upon 
Fort Sumter. The second was the call issued by Presi- 
dent Lincoln upon the States, Virginia included, for troops 
to suppress the rebellion. 

It has been said that the Southern leaders fired upon 
Fort Sumter in order to force these issues, well knowing 
that Virginia could not be relied upon to withdraw from 
the Union in any other way. Whether this be so or not, 
this result was accomplished. 

The Virginians realized that they had come to the part- 
ing of the roads. The question presented was no longer, 
Shall we fight? War was flagrant. The only question 
to be decided was. On which side shall we fight ? 

Virginia was reduced to the alternative of furnishing 
her quota of troops to the Union, or of refusing to do 
so, which was the equivalent of secession. It was a hard 
situation, made doubly hard by the fact that, even at the 
moment when these things happened, a peace conference, 
presided over by her venerable ex-President John Tyler, 
was in session at Washington, vainly endeavoring to bring 
about a bloodless solution of the trouble. 

Now, however, no time was to be lost in further negotia- 
tions. Indecision in such a crisis would have been little 
less than cowardice. 

One by one, men who had steadily voted with the Union 
men transferred their supjDort to the secessionists. Know- 
ing that war was inevitable, they decided to fight for and 
with their friends. The ordinance of secession was passed 
three days after Mr. Lincoln's call for troops ; and while 
the schedule provided for its indorsement by the people, 
the march of events was so rapid that popular indorse- 
ment was not obtained until long after the State had 
taken an unmistakable attitude in the conflict. 

While these things were progressing, I visited Norfolk 



160 THE END OF AN ERA 

daily to ascertain, and keep the family informed concern- 
ing, the progress of public affairs. 

From the time Sumter was fired upon, and Mr. Lin- 
coln's proclamation was made public, business was almost 
entirely suspended. The jDeople assembled upon the 
streets, discussing the situation, breathlessly awaiting the 
decision of the convention at Richmond, and listening 
to popular harangues. The local military, anticipating 
the result, assembled, and paraded the streets with bands 
and Southern flags. When the telegraph flashed the an- 
nouncement that the secession ordinance had been passed, 
it was greeted with great cheering, the firing of guns, and 
every demonstration of excited enthusiasm. 

It is impossible to describe the feelings with which I 
saw the stars and stripes hauled down from the custom 
house, and the Vii'ginia state flag run up in their place. 
I had become rampant for war, but never until then had 
I fully realized that this step involved making the old 
flag under which I was born in Brazil, and which, until 
now, had tyj)ified to me everything of national patriotism 
and national glory on land and sea, henceforth the flag of 
an enemy. 

It was a beautiful spring morning. Across the harbor 
at the Gosport Navy Yard, the United States flag still 
floated frpm the garrison flagstaff, and from the ships, 
— the Pennsylvania, the Cumberland, the Merrimac, the 
Germantown, the Raritan, and others whose names were 
famous in our naval annals. Father had been chairman 
of the Naval Committee of the House of Representatives 
for many years, and had become, while minister to Brazil, 
personally acquainted with nearly all the prominent naval 
officers. Upon those ships, lying there, were many men 
who, but a short time before, were welcome visitors at our 
home. It was almost incredible that they were now, and 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 161 

were to be henceforth, enemies, or that they might at any- 
time open fire upon the town which they had originally 
come to protect. A certain Confederate general was ridi- 
culed for saying, after the war ended, that he had never 
seen the old flag, even in the battle-front, without tears 
in his eyes. That was doubtless a figure of speech. It 
was rather hyperbolical and beyond any feeling I had ; 
but I can understand the emotion of every man who, hav- 
ing loved and honored the stars and stripes, could not 
bring himself, even while the war was going on, to hate 
them, or shut out from his remembrance what they had 
been to him. 

The day after the State seceded. General Taliaferro, a 
militia general, arrived at Norfolk and assumed command. 
Troops from the South began to arrive. Among them I 
recall particularly the Third Alabama Regiment, one ol 
the finest bodies of military I ever saw. It numbered 
full one thousand men, the best representatives of Mont- 
gomery, Selma, Mobile, and other places in Alabama. It 
was uniformed like the New York Seventh Regiment, and 
commanded by Colonel Lomax, a superb soldier. Those 
wealthy young fellows of the Third Alabama brought with 
them not less than one hundred servants, and their impedi- 
ments were more than was carried by a division in Lee's 
army three years later. 

All attention was concentrated now upon the navy yards 
and ships in possession of the United States. The advan- 
tage of securing the latter was fully understood. No less 
than six or seven vessels were sunk in the channel below 
the city, to prevent the ships from passing out. A demand 
for the evacuation of the navy yard and the surrender of 
the ships was, it was understood, made by General Talia- 
ferro upon Commodore Paulding. Friday the 19th and 
Saturday the 20th were consumed in negotiations. Satur- 



162 THE END OF AN ERA 

day, a party of Union officers landed at the Roanoke dock 
with a flag of truce, and proceeded under escort to Gen- 
eral Taliaferro's headquarters at the Atlantic Hotel. A 
long conference ensued, and then they returned to their 
ships. The fevered populace could gain no information 
concerning the interview or its probable residts. 

Meanwhile, several companies of local military pro- 
ceeded to old Fort Norfolk, which was on our side of the 
river just below the town, and removed a large quantity 
of ammunition stored there, unprotected by the Union 
troops. That ammunition was largely used in the first 
battle of Manassas, which occurred three months later. 

It was nearly dark, Saturday, April 20, when, despair- 
ing of getting further information, I secured my horse 
and vehicle, bought all the thrilling newspaper bulletins I 
could lay hands upon, and, tearing myself away from the 
excitement of the town, started for home. The erstwhile 
silent woods skirting the homeward road were now trans- 
formed into camps. Places whose deep silence at night, 
in time of peace, had been broken only by the uncanny 
call of the whippoorwill, or the hooting of owls, were 
lighted up with camp-fires, and resounded with the joyous 
laughter of the soldiers, the calls of sentinels, the stroke 
of the axe, or the singing of the cooks and servants. 
Verily, this thing called war was a fascinating sport. 
My heart sickened at the thought that it would probably 
all be over before I was old enough to be a participant in 
its glorious exhilaration. 

At home, the family, impatient at my tardy return, de- 
voured every item of news in the papers, and hung breath- 
less upon every report of what was going forward in the 
city. Thoroughly fagged out by excitement, I went early 
to bed, wondering " What next ? " Things happened so 
fast in those days that, as soon as one thing occurred, we 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 163 

began to expect something else, and in this case we 
were not disappointed. Some time after midnight, the 
household was aroused by a series of explosions in the 
direction of Norfolk, and on going out, we beheld a dense 
canopy of smoke hanging over the city, illuminated by 
fires, and flashing almost momentarily with the light of 
new explosions. It was easy to conjecture the meaning 
of this. The United States forces had abandoned and 
blown up the Gosport Navy Yard. I was keen to return 
at once to the city, but concluded to remain until day- 
light. 

The next morning was Sunday, and bright and early I 
accompanied a party of our workmen in our sloop to the 
city. What a sight of devastation greeted us ! The Penn- 
sylvania and the Merrimac and other ships had been 
burned to the water's edge. Some of their guns had 
been loaded, and exploded as the heat of the fire reached 
them, but fortunately the ships had listed heavily before 
the discharge, and the shots had gone into the water or 
high over the town. The ship sheds were all destroyed. 
A futile effort had been made to blow up the dry dock. 
The barracks and officers' quarters and the machine shops 
had all been fired. Some of these fires had been extin- 
guished, while others were still burning. The long rows 
of guns in the navy yard, fifteen hundred in all, had in 
many instances been spiked, or disabled by breaking their 
trunions with sledge-hammers. Old sails and clothing 
and masses of papers strewed the parade ; and, altogether, 
it was marvelous to behold what destruction and disorder 
had been wrought within the space of a few hours where 
all had been construction and perfect order for many 
years. 

As for the late occupants, the following were the facts : 
About nine o'clock Saturday night, the Pawnee had come 



164 THE END OF AN ERA 

up from Fortress Monroe, easily passing the obstructions. 
She doubtless brought the orders what to do. After 
knocking the navy yard into smithereens, and transferring 
all the valuable papers and the sailors to the Pawnee and 
Cumberland, and burning the Pennsylvania, Merrimac, 
and other ships, the Pawnee and Cumberland steamed 
down the harbor to Fortress Monroe. On their down- 
ward passage, the sailors manned the yardarms, and 
cheered the Union flag, as it was lit up by the blaze of 
the burning ships. The ease with which these vessels had 
passed the obstructions and escaped was a sore disap- 
pointment to the Confederates.^ 

We spent the greater portion of the day wandering 
about through the abandoned navy yard, and inspecting 
the first real devastation of war which we had yet beheld. 
Little did we realize that it was possible to rebuild the 
dry dock, or that in it, out of the charred remains of the 
Merrimac, would be constructed a ship which was destined 
to revolutionize naval warfare. Still less did we realize 
that this scene of destruction was, as contrasted with what 
we were yet to witness, as insignificant as the burning 
of a country smoke house beside the conflagration of 
Moscow. 

Immediately after the evacuation of Norfolk by the 
Union forces, the fortification of the harbor began. Bat- 
teries were erected at Craney Island, Lambert's Point, 
Sewell's Point, and elsewhere. Obstructions were placed 
in the harbor to prevent the return of Union vessels. 
Long lines of intrenchments were erected in rear of the 
city, extending from the eastern branch of the Elizabeth 
River to Tanner's Creek. The military forces were dis- 
tributed along what was known as the intrenched camp, 

^ For full and graphic description of this, see Rebellion Records, 
vol. i. Doc. p. 119. 



1 



THE CALM BEFQRE THE STORM 165 

and the fashionable amusement of the time was to visit 
the various encampments, and witness the drills and 
parades. 

Our house, but a mile or two beyond the lines, was 
constantly filled with visitors, and was gay beyond all 
precedent. 

Almost immediately after the passage of the secession 
ordinance, father received a commission as brigadier-gen- 
eral in the Confederate service, with directions to repair to 
West Virginia, recruit and organize a brigade, and pro- 
tect that section of the State against any hostile advance. 
His preparations for departure were immediately begun ; 
and I was desolate at learning that my brother Richard, 
now seventeen, was recalled from William and Mary Col- 
lege to accompany him as aid-de-camp. 

Just before their departure, the family was roused late 
one night by a loud knocking upon the door, and the ap- 
pearance of my brother Henry and two cousins who lived 
upon the eastern shore peninsula. My brother was an 
Episcopal minister, and had been up to this time in charge 
of a church in West Philadelphia. He was exceedingly 
popular with his congregation, and no man owed parish- 
ioners more for love and kindness than he did. Hoping 
against hope, he had clung to his charge, thinking that 
possibly something might hapjjen to avert hostilities. 
Meanwhile, the feeling there had become intense. 

One day, having occasion to visit the barber-shop of the 
Girard House, the barber by some means discovered who 
he was, and, seeking from him some assurances of loyalty 
to the Union which he could not conscientiously give, the 
barber threw down his razor, and refused to finish shav- 
ing a rebel. Leaving the place, as a crowd was assem- 
bling, he hurried homeward, to find that his residence had 
been protected from a mob through the prudent exhibi- 



166 THE END OF AN ERA 

tion of a Union flag by a small boy whom he employed :, 
and, under advice of friends, he left the city forthwith, 
and journeyed homeward via Wilmington, Del., down 
the eastern shore peninsula, to the home of two young 
cousins in Accomac. They joined him, and the three 
crossed the Chesapeake Bay in a small boat from Cape 
Charles, and reached our home as described. 

My brother brought us the first tidings we had for a 
long time from our relatives in Philadelphia, and from 
his description they had become as intense partisans of 
the Union side as were we of the South. Poor fellow ! 
he took the situation very much to heart. While loyal 
to kith and kin, he, even at that early day, declared that 
we did not know the power, the resources, or the numbers 
of our adversaries, and that the struggle of the South for 
independence was hopeless folly. We were all elated, 
and felt no doubts whatever. We were disposed to regard 
him as controlled in his feelings by his deep aversion to 
parting with a noble and devoted congregation. 

A few days later, my eldest sister, wife of Dr. A. Y. P. 
Garnett, of Washington, D. C, arrived at our home with 
her family of children. They had abandoned their home, 
and reached Richmond on one of the last trains which 
came through. When they joined us at Rolleston, our 
family was a very large one. The teacher of my school 
volunteered, and the school closed. My father and 
young brother Richard departed for the war in West 
Virginia. 

My oldest brother Jennings was about this time elected 
captain of the Richmond Light Infantry Blues, a volun- 
teer organization founded in 1793. His company joined 
my father's forces, and became A Company, Forty-sixth 
Virginia Regiment, of Wise's brigade. 

Bravely and gayly they all sallied forth to rendez- 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 167 

vous at the famous White Sulphur Springs. Thence, 
after organizing, they proceeded to Charleston Kanawha. 
Every report from our own was watched for with intense 
eagerness, of course, but the things occurring near at 
hand were of the most exciting character. 

After the evacuation of Norfolk by the Union forces, 
the sound of cannon was almost hourly in our ears. In a 
few days, Craney Island, SewelFs Point, Lambert's Point, 
Pig Point, and other places commanding the entrance of 
the Elizabeth and Nansemond rivers, were fully fortified 
by the Confederates. 

At these points, our own troops were constantly exer- 
cised in target practice ; and the Union forces at Fortress 
Monroe and the Rip-Raps (then called Fort Calhoun, 
now Fort Wool), and the Union ships in Hampton Roads 
and the Chesapeake Bay, were engaged in similar drills. 
At times, the reports, all of which we could hear, were 
so loud and so frequent that we believed an engagement 
was in progress. 

Confederate cavalry patrolled the beach of the Chesa- 
peake to guard against the landing of the enemy for an 
attack upon Norfolk in rear. Major Edgar Burroughs, 
my father's competitor for delegate to the Secession Con- 
vention, was in command of a squadron of this cavalry, 
encamped near Lynnhaven Bay, to protect the seine- 
haulers there who supplied Norfolk and the troops with 
fish. 

The camp was in a grove of live-oaks, behind the sand 
dunes on the beach, but must have been visible with 
glasses to those on the ships, and was easily in reach of 
the guns of the Union cruisers constantly moving back 
and forth along the coast between Fortress Monroe and 
Cape Henry. Later in the war, that camp would have 
been instantly bombarded ; but at this early stage, the 



168 THE END OF AN ERA 

combatants were not altogether prepared to kill each 
other on sight. 

The possibility of such an attack was, nevertheless, suf- 
ficient to make the place very attractive; and many a 
day, going down to the shore under pretext of securing 
fish from the seines, I remained in the cavalry camp all 
day, often watching the passing Union vessels through 
field-glasses, which made everything and everybody upon 
them plainly visible. 

Then came the insignificant affair at Big Bethel. Ex- 
aggerated accounts of it frenzied us with joy. "The 
Happy Land of Canaan " was once more utilized for ver- 
sification, and every little chap of my acquaintance went 
about singing : — 

" It was on the 10th of June that the Yankees came to Bethel, 
They thought they woukl give lis a trainhi', 
But we gave 'era such a beatin' 
That they never stopped retreatin' 
Till they landed in the Happy Land of Canaan." 

My poor little mare Pocahontas paid heavily for all 
this war fervor. Not content with banging away half the 
day with the rifles at targets erected on land and v/ater, I 
was ambitious also to become a cavalryman and a lancer. 
We had tournament evei-y day ; that is, riding at a run, 
trying to carry off suspended rings with a long pole. 
Then we would caparison ourselves with sabres and dash 
at dummy heads. In these exercises the riders changed ; 
but the horse was the same, and no doubt Pocahontas felt 
deep regret at the condition of affairs which gave her such 
constant and violent exercise. 

Then came the battle of Manassas. Until then, I had 
never conceived the intensity of feeling, the exaltation of 
exultation, to which men are aroused by the first deep 
draught of blood and victory. Fierceness, as we know it 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 169 

in peace times, is, contrasted with human war-passion, as 
the sweet south wind beside the desert simoom. Around 
the telegraph offices in Norfolk, great throngs of citizens 
and soldiers stood, roused to the highest pitch of excite- 
ment, as bulletin after bulletin was read aloud announ- 
cing a great Confederate ti'iumph. 

Men whose names had never been heard before leaped 
at one bound into the front rank of the world's heroes, 
in the minds of that delirious audience. Beauregard, Joe 
Johnston, Stonewall Jackson, Bee, and Bartow were the 
names on every tongue. The magnitude of the engage- 
ment was represented as equal to the greatest of ancient 
or modern battles. The throngs gloated in the stories of 
unprecedented carnage. One telegram announced a field 
so covered with the dead bodies of gayly dressed Union 
Zouaves that it resembled a French poppy farm. The 
conduct of the Southern troops was represented as sur- 
passingly brave and chivalrie, while that of " the Yan- 
kees " was referred to as correspondingly base and cow- 
ardly. The boast that one Southerner could whip ten 
Yankees seemed fully verified. The prediction followed 
that within a month the Southern army would be encamped 
about New York, and that it would dictate terms of peace 
within sixty days. 

It was many a year before I learned the historical fact 
that the little battle of Manassas was one of the oddest 
ei^isodes in military history, in that it was fought at right 
angles to the line of battle selected by both commanders, 
and was virtually won by the Union forces when they be- 
became panic-stricken and fled. It is almost incredible 
now, remembering how it was represented at the time, 
that only 750 men were killed in both armies, and less 
than 2500 were wounded.^ 

^ Official war records : Union, killed, 481 ; wounded, 1011 ; captured, 
1460. Confederate, killed, 269 ; wounded, 1483 ; captured, none. 



170 THE END OF AN ERA 

The war had begun successfully enough to the Confed- 
erates to fan and inflame into the most exaggerated pro- 
portions the vanity of a boy concerning Southern valor. 

As the summer advanced, no other startling battles 
occurred. 

Even at that early day, General Lee was the man to 
whom the Virginians looked with more confidence and 
more hope than towards any other Southern leader. His 
preeminence had been somewhat eclipsed by the brilliant 
success of Beauregard and Johnston at Manassas ; but 
great things were expected of him in his campaign in 
West Virginia against McClellan. Lee's western cam- 
paign proved, as we all know, a failure. The mountain- 
ous character of the country was such as to preclude suc- 
cessful military operations. 

My father, commanding to the south of General Lee, 
was forced, by the situation of the armies to the north of 
him, to retire from the Kanawha valley. Before doing so, 
he had made a successful foray upon the enemy at Ripley. 
The Blues, and some other troops under command of my 
brother, had surprised the enemy and captured a few men. 
It was a very insignificant affair, but we exaggerated it 
into a deed of great valor and importance. The Confed- 
erate forces retreated to the lines of the Gauley, Floyd 
won a handsome victory over the enemy at Carinfax 
Ferry, and my father's command took a strong position 
on Sewell's Mountain, awaiting attack and confident of 
victory. 

Shortly after this, Floyd retreated with his command to 
a place called Meadow Bluff. He ranked my father, and 
ordered him to withdraw his forces to that place. This 
my father flatly refused to do, and his insubordination 
led to an angry controversy, necessitating the presence of 
General Lee. Upon General Lee's arrival, he fully sus- 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 171 

tained the military views of General Wise ; but it was 
evident that two civilians like Wise and Floyd could 
not cooperate in harmony, and both were ordered else- 
where. 

The exposures and excitements of the Virginia cam- 
paign resulted in a protracted illness of my father, and for 
weeks he lay at the point of death in Richmond. While 
he was thus prostrated, campaigning in West Virginia 
petered out, and both sides. Union and Confederate, real- 
ized that the fighting must be done elsewhere, and the 
troops were withdrawn. McClellan became commander 
of the Army of the Potomac. 

General Lee was ordered to Charleston to superin- 
tend the fortifications there, followed by the sneer of the 
cynical but brilliant editor of the " Examiner," John 
M. Daniel, that it was hoped that he would do better 
with the spade than he had done with the sword. Floyd 
dropped out of public view and died soon afterwards, and 
my father's brigade was ordered to Richmond to reorgan- 
ize and await a new assignment. 

I shall never forget the impressions made by that bri- 
gade when it returned from the West Virginia campaign 
in December of 1861. They were the first troops I had 
seen return from active campaigning. During the very 
rainy season in the mountains, all the gilt and newness 
of their uniforms had disappeared. The hair and beards 
of the men had grown long, and added to their dirty ap- 
pearance. A famous charger, named " Legion," had been 
I presented to my father at Staunton as he went out in the 
[spring, and my brother had taken with him an exquisite 
chestnut thoroughbred filly. Exposure in bad weather 
and bad feed had baked their coats and filled them with 
mange, and had made these two, and all their compan- 
ions, look like so many bags of bones. When, spiritless, 



172 THE END OF AN ERA 

dejected, and half starved, they were led from the box-cars 
in which they arrived, I could not believe they were the 
same horses I had known. 

Altogether, a decided reaction had taken place since 
the wonderful battle of Manassas. It had not been fol- 
lowed up by the extermination of " the Yankees," as I 
expected it would be. 

Although but two hundred and sixty-nine Confeder- 
ate soldiers had been killed at Manassas, many of them 
were our friends. But the deaths in battle were as no- 
thing compared with other deaths. We were beginning jj 
to dread measles and mumps and typhoid fever and dys- 
entery in the camps. We were learning the ghastly truth 
that, for every man who dies in actual battle, a dozen pass . 
away ingloriously by disease. 

The skeleton had not yet clutched any of our family ; 
but, my ! how many of our friends were already in mourn- 
ino-! And the war seemed no nearer to its end than 
when it began. 

Six months before that, the town would have turned out 
to see the brigade pass through. To-day, under the com- ,| 
mand of the senior colonel, it marched through the city i 
quietly enough, and went into camp on the outskirts, with- 
out attracting great attention. c 
When father's health was partially restored, he returned 
to our home near Norfolk to complete his recuperation. | 
One day we visited the Gosport Navy Yard, and saw . 
them building a great iron monster upon the original 
framework of the Merrimac. My father felt great pride.j 
and interest in this, for he it was who, before he had 
departed for West Virginia, sent General Lee a descrip-\ 
tion and model of a marine catapult, designed years before 
by Captain Williamson; and he always insisted that 



THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 173 

this was the first suggestion for the construction of the 
boat. 

It was a very happy period, that time in the autumn 
of 1861, when my father and brother were at home with 
us. I was no longer anxious to see them in the field. I 
had heard too much of the exposures and dangers and 
deprivations of camp life. But in time the orders came. 
My father was assigned to the command of Roanoke 
Island. The brigade came down from Richmond. It 
was mightily spruced up and benefited by its sojourn in 
Richmond, and its soldierly appearance made a good im- 
pression as it passed through Norfolk. 

At the head of his command in the 46th, my darling 
brother Jennings marched. When he saw me, he came 
out and patted and kissed me, and asked about every- 
thing at home. Before we parted, be sure he pressed into 
my hand a crisp new Confederate bill, for he and I were 
" partners." 

The brigade was embai-ked on barges to pass down 
through the Albemarle Canal to Roanoke Island ; and 
the last I saw of them was as they floated away, towed by 
the tugs, singing " The Bonnie Blue Flag." 

The thing which made me feel very proud was the 
news told me by quite a number of the officers that, 
in the reorganization near at hand, my brother was to 
be the colonel of the 46th. I asked him about it. He 
laughed and said it was all nonsense, and refused to 
discuss the subject. But I knew it was true, for every- 
body in the regiment turned towards him lovingly as the 
best and bravest and simplest and purest man among 
them. 

I was lonesome enough January 3, 1862, when father 
' and his staff rode off from Rolleston to join the brigade 



174 THE END OF AN ERA 

at its new station. They journeyed by land along the 
coast to Nag's Head, on the outer coast of North Caro- 
lina, whence they were to cross by ferry to Roanoke 
Island. 

I felt a deep foreboding that trouble was in store for 
us from this new venture. 



CHAPTER XII 

THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 

There are certain names whose mere mention produces 
feelings of horror, or pain, or sadness from association. 
To me, that of Roanoke Island is one of these. 

The island commanded the passage by water through 
Hatteras Inlet and Pimlico Sound to Albemarle and 
Currituck sounds. It was a most important strategic point, 
for a force of Union troops passing it had at their mercy 
several towns upon the North Carolina coast, could cut 
off the supplies and railroad and canal communications 
of Norfolk, and were in position to attack that city in 
rear. About January 1, 1862, my father was assigned to 
the command and defense of Koanoke Island. Major- 
General Huger was the commander of the department 
embracing that position. 

General Huger was one of those old West Point incompe- 
tents with whom the Confederacy was burdened. He was 
both by birth and personally a gentleman, and no doubt 
a brave man ; but the only reason on earth for his being 
a major-general in command of an important department 
was that he was a graduate of West Point. The Con- 
federacy felt this influence much more than the United 
States. Mr. Davis, our President, was a West Point 
graduate, as was everybody else connected with our mili- 
tary organization. General Bragg, his favorite military 
counselor, was the martinet of the old army ; and Generals 
Hardee and Cooper, the leading advisers at headquarters, 



176 THE END OF AN ERA 

and Generals Lee and Johnston, the commanders in the 
field, were all West Point graduates. 

I am not belittling the great advantages secured to the 
Confederacy by service of a number of very superior West 
Point officers, who joined their fortunes with hers ; but 
Nvith them came also a very inefficient and inferior lot, 
unfit for the high commands to which they were assigned, 

men who stood in the way of better officers, and who i\ 

were appointed and retained merely through favoritism. 
To this latter class belonged Major-General Benjamin 
Huger, the officer in command of Norfolk. 

The Secretary of War at the time was Judah P. Ben- 
jamin, in many respects the most remarkable person in 
the Confederate States. The Confederate leaders were, 
as a rule, men of deep feelings and convictions, or men 
of intense or passionate natures. Not so with Benjamin : 
he had more brains and less heart than any other civic 
leader in the South. He was an English Jew, and a 
lawyer of the first rank. He entered upon employment as 
attorney for a client. For that client he worked with 
surprising acumen, with great learning, with boundless 
capacity for endurance, with unquestioned loyalty, and 
absolute fidelity. If his client was in any case hanged, it 
was only after Benjamin had done all in his power for him ; 
but after Benjamin had exhausted the resources of defense, 
and come to the end of the business for which he was re- 
tained, he possessed the power of completely dismissing his 
client's affairs from his mind. Likely as not, he would 
be having a bottle of Madeira and a cigar at his club 
at the moment the hanging was taking place. His nature 
was such that he had no sentimental attachments, and 
seldom troubled himself about the troubles of others. His 
convictions were clear, vigorous, and strongly urged ; but 
they were never passionate, or clouded by affection or 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 177 

hate ; he was never harassed by reminiscences. When 
a case was lost, he did not bemoan it ; he found another. 
He played his part in the Confederacy as if he held a 
hand in a game of whist ; a skilled professional, he lost 
no trick that could be saved, and did everything possible 
to win for himself and his partner. When he lost, he 
indulged in no repiuings ; he tore up the old pack, lighted 
a fresh cigar, moved to another table, called for a fresh 
pack, took a new partner, and played another game. His 
last game proved to be much more successful than his 
Confederate venture, for he moved to England, and 
became justly eminent at the English bar. The Confed- 
eracy and its collapse were no more to Judah P. Benja- 
min than a last year's bird's-nest. 

When my father was assigned to the command of 
Roanoke Island, it was well known at the war depart- 
ment that General McClellan was fitting out an expedi- 
tion to attack and capture the position. 

The disastrous termination of the operations of 1861 
in the mountains of West Virginia had not enhanced my 
father's military reputation, or that of any other general 
who was in the mountains. On the Union side, Mc- 
Clellan had suffered, and even the prestige of Lee had 
been damaged, in those impossible campaigns, so that he 
had been assigned to the fortifications of Charleston, 
followed by the jeering taunts of John M. Daniel, the 
satirical editor of the " Richmond Examiner." 

But while my father lacked the advantages of a military 
education, he had a remarkably correct apprehension of 
topography, and was quick tc see the strategic value of 
positions. As soon as he visited Roanoke Island, he 
grasped its importance, and saw that it was not only 
practically defenseless, but unsupplied with any adequate 
means of erecting; fortifications. He hurried back to the 



178 THE END OF AN ERA 

headquarters of General Huger at Norfolk, and doubtless 
harassed that easy-going and high-living soldier with his 
importunities. Failing to obtain any assistance from 
General Huger, he repaired to Kichmond, and endeavored 
to impress upon the Secretary of War the necessity for 
prompt action. Mr. Benjamin was an attorney, and not 
a soldier. He looked for instruction to his client, who 
in this case was General Huger. He doubtless thought 
that the West Pointer knew much more of such matters 
than the civilian, and regarded it as little less than insub- 
ordination for a brigadier-general to seek the depart- 
ment direct. Then, too, Mr. Benjamin was an easy- 
spoken, cool, suave Jew, quiet and diplomatic in speech, 
never excited. It disturbed his nerves to have General 
Wise in his department, — ardent, urgent, pressing, declar- 
ing that past neglect had been criminal and present delay 
was suicidal, and even guilty occasionally of some indignant 
swearing at the galling indifference shown to the urgent 
peril of the situation. The upshot of all this was a per- 
emptory order from the war department to General Wise 
to return forthwith to Roanoke Island, and to do the best 
he could with what he had in hand. 

After the inevitable disaster, the Confederate Congress 
declared that General Wise had done everything in his 
power, and that the blame for defeat lay entirely at the 
door of General Huger and the Secretary of War ; but 
that never repaired the wreck, or gave us back our dead. ^ 

1 The report of the investigatinfr committee, Confederate House of 
Representatives (Series I. vol. i. p. lilO) : 

"The correspondence on file of General Wise with the Secretary of 
War, General Huger, his superior officer, the governor of North Caro- 
lina, and others, proves that he was fully alive to the importance of 
Roanoke Island, and has devoted his whole time and energies and means 
to the defense of that position, and that he is in no way responsible for 
the unfortunate disaster which befell our forces upon the island on Febru- 
ary 7 and 8. 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 179 

Our home was on the route between Norfolk and 
Roanoke Island. My father's haggard, perplexed appear- 
ance, as he passed back and forth on these fruitless trips, 
revealed only too plainly his knowledge that he had 
been placed in a death-trap. Indeed, we all knew, as 
well before as afterwards, what would be the result. 

It was on the 8th of February, 1862 ; a cold, bluster- 
ing northeast storm had prevailed for several days ; the 
leaden skies hung low ; the rain, blown in sheets by the 
gusts, swept against the windows ; all farm work had 
been suspended ; the tides were driven in high upon the 
marshes ; and the only time I left the house during the 
day was in an oiled sou'wester and gum boots, to look 
after the feeding of the cattle and the sheep, huddled in 
their sheds of myrtle-boughs, and to see that the stock 
was cared for in the evening. I was now the head of the 
plantation. A gloomy dusk was closing in ; the cold 

" But the committee cannot say the same in reference to the efforts of 
the Secretary of War and the commanding ojB&cer at Norfolk, General 
Huger. It is apparent that the island of Roanoke is important for the 
defense of Norfolk, and that General Huger had under his command at 
that point upward of 15,000 men, a large supply of armament and ammu- 
nition, and could have thrown in a few hours a large reinforcement upon 
Roanoke Island, and that himself and the Secretary of War had timely 
notice of the entire inadequacy of the defenses, the want of men and 
munitions of war, and the threatening attitude of the enemy ; but General 
Huger and the Secretary of War paid no practical attention to these 
urgent appeals of General Wise, sent forward none of his important 
requisitions, and permitted General Wise and his inconsiderable force to 
remain to meet at least 15,000 men, well armed and equipped. If the 
Secretary of War and the commanding general at Norfolk had not the 
means to reinforce General Wise, why was he not ordered to abandon his 
position and save his command ? 

" But, on the contrary, he was required to remain and sacrifice his 
command, with no means, in his insulated position, to make his escape in 
case of defeat. , . . Whatever of blame and responsibility is justly 
attributable to any one for the defeat should attach to Major-General B. 
Huger and the late Secretary of War, J. P. Benjamin." 



180 THE END OF AN ERA 

winds swept so keenly that they fretted the shallow pud- 
dles collected in the yard. 

With emptied feed-basket on my arm, I was returning 
to the house, when I saw a horseman slowly approaching 
by the farm road. He was so muffled as to be unrecog- 
nizable, and even when he reached the yard gate, I did 
not recognize the jaded beast that bore him as our pretty 
little sorrel filly. It was my brother Richard, ray father's 
aid-de-camp, who for forty-eight hours had been riding 
alone along the cheerless beach of the Atlantic to bring 
the announcement to General Huger that the armada of 
Burnside, consisting of about sixty vessels, had entered 
Hatteras Inlet, passed up Pimlico Sound, and was in 
sight of Roanoke Island when he left with his dispatches. 
These he had delivered to the general at Norfolk, who, 
as he reported, seemed almost indifferent to the announce- 
ment. Having performed his task, he had ridden back 
to our home, seven miles upon the return journey, and now 
reached it, himself and his steed half dead from exhaus- 
tion. There was little to lighten the gloom in the poor 
fellow's appearance or conversation, for he reported our 
father prostrated at Nag's Head from exposure in the 
effort to prepare the island for the approaching assault. 

A roaring wood-fire and a hearty sui)per somewhat 
revived his spirits, and for a time we almost forgot war 
troubles while he gave marvelous accounts of the great 
flocks of sea-fowl through which he had ridden in the 
storm. The strong winds and high tides had forced him 
to ride, sometimes for miles, in water up to the knees 
of his horse ; and the storm was so fierce that the geese 
and brant and ducks, driven in-shore, were reluctant to 
fly, and oftentimes barely moved out of the way of his 
horse. 

As we sat there, seeking such comfort as our home 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 181 

and security from the storm outside gave us, and won- 
dering what had happened below, we little realized that 
upon the day before, and on that very day, the battle of 
Roanoke Island had been fought and lost, and that our 
gallant brother, wounded to death, lay dying in the camp 
of his captors. 

The battle of Roanoke Island, fought February 7 and 
8, was the first of a series of disasters which befell the 
Confederates in the early part of 1862. 

Roanoke Island is shaped something like an hourglass. 
Its northernmost half is higher ground than its southern- 
most, and the waters and wet marshes almost intersect 
it at its middle part. The engineers who planned its 
defenses placed all its fortifications upon the upper half, 
bearing upon the channel of Croatan Sound to westward. 
Not a work was erected to prevent a debarkation upon its 
lower portion. An attacking force landing there was 
absolutely safe from the water batteries, both while land- 
ing and afterwards. At the narrow neck of land which 
connected the upper and lower half of the island was 
a fortification, not one hundred feet in length and only 
four and a half feet high, mounting three field-pieces. 
This captured, every other artillery defense of the island 
was at the mercy of the enemy, who by that manoeuvre 
were in their rear, — so emphatically in their rear that the 
vessels attacking the water batteries could not fire after 
the Union troojjs assaulted the redoubt, for their shot 
would have fallen into the ranks of their own troops. 

The sea beach eastward of Roanoke Island, separated 
from it by shallow water, is known as Nag's Head. My 
father's headquarters were established at a seaside hotel 
on the outer beach. The announcement of the presence 
of Burnside's expedition found him prostrated with pneu- 
monia, and the command of the troops devolved upon 



182 THE END OF AN ERA 

Colonel Shaw, of North Carolina, although my father con- 
tinued to give general directions from his sick-bed. 

The entire available force of Colonel Shaw consisted 
of two regiments of North Carolina troops, numbering 
1024 men, and a detachment of my father's brigade, 
numbering 410 men, under Lieutenant-Colonel Anderson, 
— total, 1434 men. 

Upon the morning of February 7, the ships of Gen- 
eral Burnside attacked what was known as the Pork 
Point battery, and a ridiculous little so-called fleet of 
Commander Lynch, consisting of seven tugs and river 
steamers. It was dubbed a " mosquito fleet," and such 
in truth it was. Although gallantly manoeuvred, it was 
no more regarded by Commodore Goldsbrough than if 
the vessels had been so many tin pans armed with potato 
guns. Pork Point battery was bravely defended all day, 
but its guns could only be brought to bear upon objects 
within a limited segment. 

The bombardment was kept up until night to cover 
the landing of the troops at a point known as Ashby's, 
just below the narrow part of the island. No serious 
damage was done to the battery, and but few men were 
killed. 

Late in the afternoon, three Federal brigades were 
debarked. The first consisted of five full regiments 
under General Foster; the second, of four regiments 
tinder General Reno ; the third, of four regiments under 
General Parke, — thirteen full regiments in all, not to 
mention a detachment of New York Marine Artillery, 
with six Dahlgren guns, and Company B, New York 
99th Regiment. The debarkation took place at Ashby's 
Landing. 

Colonel Jordan, commanding the 31st North Carolina 
Regiment, was sent to this point with his command under 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 183 

orders to resist the landing, bvit he retired without firing 
a gun. He had but 450 men, and the overwhelming 
number of the enemy, and the vast fleet covering their 
landing and ready to open on him as soon as his firing 
disclosed his position, perhaps justified Colonel Jordan in 
returning. So the enemy, by night-time, in astonishing 
force, was landed, and ready for next day's operations. 

In his report, General Burnside gives a graphic de- 
scription of the beautiful sight when one of his light- 
draught steamers ran up, towing a hundred surf-boats 
loaded down with men, and, " cutting loose " all at once, 
the boats were beached side by side with such precision 
that four thousand men were landed in twenty minutes ; 
and this was but one of his three brigades. 

Fancy the feelings of that little band of raw North 
Carolina troops under Colonel Jordan when, from the 
adjacent woods, they witnessed these landings, and not 
only knew they had but one thousand comrades to assist 
them, but that, when the fight was lost, as lost it must be, 
there was no hope of escape ! Verily, the first colonists 
were not more desperately situated. No one can blame 
the poor fellows for quietly withdrawing up the dark 
and narrow road to the earthworks at the causeway con- 
necting the two sections of the island, a mile and a half 
distant. There they found the Virginians and the 8th 
North Carolina Regiment, numbering less than one thou- 
sand men in all. The earthwork facing south, and com- 
manding the causeway by which the Union forces must 
approach, was so insignificant in size that even the small 
number of Confederates available more than filled it, and 
a part of Jordan's regiment was placed in reserve in the 
fight next day. The engineers who had erected this little 
work had reported that the marshes to the right and left 
were impassable. The same rainy, gusty night already 



184 THE END OF AN ERA 

described settled down on our wretched soldiers, while, 
less than two miles away, between twelve and fifteen 
thousand of the enemy were building camp-fires, cooking 
their ample supplies of provisions, and pi-eparing to ad- 
vance upon the earthwork in the morning. 

Anxious to obtain information, Colonel Anderson or- 
dered Captain O. Jennings Wise, of Company A, 46th 
Virginia, with twenty of his Virginians, to reconnoitre 
the position of the enemy. In that wretched swamp, 
reconnoitring meant simply going down a narrow road 
until they struck the enemy. The road ran directly 
south, through the main embrasure of the earthwork, over 
the sunken causeway. In front of the work, for several 
hundred yards, the timber was cleared away. Beyond 
the clearing, the road entered the woods, and, turning to 
the right, ran down to Ashby's Landing where the enemy 
was bivouacked. 

The task assigned to the brave fellows was simple 
enough. All they had to do was to walk right down 
through the silent pines until they came to the enemy's 
picket guard ; when that happened, somebody was likely 
to be shot, and somebody likely to run away. 

It all sounds very simple, does it not, dear reader ? I 
am conjecturing, as I pen these lines, whether you ever 
had any such experience. If not, and if you really are 
anxious for a novel sensation, you can obtain it whenever 
you go on one of these little reconnoissances. 

Cheerfully, and as uncomplainingly as if the allotted 
task was of their own choosing, the little party sallied 
forth. Across the opening they trudged in the gray 
darkness, and plunged into the silent woods beyond. In 
Indian file and in silence they pursued their route. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, — on, on, on, every step bearing 
them, as all knew, nearer and nearer to the enemy they 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 185 

were seeking. Now and again they paused and listened 
for some sound ; then onward they pressed, the tension 
constantly becoming greater. No picket fire warned 
them. 

Of a sudden, " Who goes there ? " came forth huskily 
out of the darkness from a picket not twenty yards away. 
Quick as a flash, they made a dash for him ; but he fired 
and fled, followed by two or three companions, who, like 
him, fired backwards as they ran, and our boys gave them 
a volley, knocking one of them over. Pursuit was too 
dangerous, for the sounds of the firing had aroused the 
camp, and loud calls and hurrying voices, not far distant, 
made it too plain that discretion was the better part of 
valor. So, picking up the cap and gun of the man who 
had been shot, the scouts started on a double-quick back 
to the redoubt. What was learned was only that the 
enemy had gone into camp near the spot where he landed. 
Prepared for sleep by this little march and its excitements, 
my brother and his men lay down on the wet ground be- 
hind the breastworks, and slept, some of them, their last 
earthly sleep. 

A heavy fog hung over Roanoke Island the morning 
of February 8, so dense that the fleet opposite the Pork 
Point battery was unable to open fire, except in a desul- 
tory way. It was eight o'clock before the mists lifted 
sufficiently for the attack, and then the gunboats fired 
cautiously, lest their shells should fall among their 
friends who were advancing towards our works. 

General Foster's brigade, accompanied by the six Dahl- 
gren guns, moved, about eight o'clock, up the narrow 
roadway leading from Hammond's or Ashby's landings 
to the redoubt. Their advance was completely concealed 
from the Confederates, until a sudden turn to the left in 
the road brought them to the clearing in front of our 



186 THE END OF AN ERA 

earthworks. Then the Dahlgren guns, under Midship- 
man Porter, went into position and opened fire, supported 
by the 25th Massachusetts and 10th Connecticut regi- 
ments. 

The disposition of the Confederate forces was as fol- 
lows : three field-pieces, a 24-pounder, an 18-pounder, 
and a 6-pounder, were mounted on the intrenchments. 
For all three, they had nothing but 6-pounder ammuni- 
tion. The 6-pounder was at the centre of the embrasure, 
commanded by young William B. Selden, lieutenant of 
engineers. The infantry supporting this artillery behind 
the breastworks consisted of two companies of the 8th 
North Carolina, two companies of the 31st North Caro- 
lina, and two companies of the 46th and 59th Virginia 
regiments, in all about five hundred men. The Rangers 
of the 59th Virginia under Captain Coles were dejiloyed 
as skirmishers to the right of the earthwork ; and the 
Blues of the 46th Virginia under Captain Wise were 
deployed as skirmishers to the left, in oixler to guard 
against any attempted flank movement. Every engineer 
and every scouting party who had examined the ground 
had pronounced the deep and heavily wooded marshes 
to the right and left of the Confederate position to be 
impassable. 

General Foster, as soon as he engaged the fort with his 
artillery and leading regiments, ordered the 23d and 27th 
Massachusetts regiments of his brigade to pass into the 
swamp on the right, with directions to spare no effort to 
penetrate it, and, if possible, turn the Confederate left 
flank. Moving rapidly along the edge of the clearing, 
these two regiments with great ])luck entered the bog and 
undergrowth, and, toiling knee-deep in the muddy ooze, 
soon hotly engaged the Blues in the effort to turn our 
left flank. The fighting in front was stubborn, so stub- 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 187 

born, indeed, that in three hours the 25th Massachusetts 
exhausted its ammunition and was relieved by the 10th 
Connecticut ; and the artillery, having used all but a few 
rounds of its ammunition, was ordered to suspend its fire. 
Meanwhile, Reno's brigade, coming up, moved to the left 
and penetrated the dense woods in the attempt to turn 
our right flank. The assault of Reno's brigade was met 
by the Ben McCuUoch Rangers, alone. Poor Coles, their 
commander, was killed. The onslaught of Reno was irre- 
sistible, and, as soon as his men could extricate themselves 
from the morass and gain the higher ground where the 
Rangers were posted, they drove the latter before them 
like chaff before the wind. 

Then came tremendous cheering from Reno's men, an- 
nouncing their success in turning the right flank of the 
fort. This so inspired the brigade of General Parke, 
which had now come up and was deploying to the right 
to aid the attack of Foster's flanking column, that the 
last regiment of Parke (9th New York), while in the act 
of passing the causeway, hearing the sound of Reno's 
cheering and seeing a slackening of the fire from the 
Confedei-ate earthworks, changed direction and charged 
the works in brilliant style. Whoever else may have 
been appalled, young Selden still worked his gun, which 
bore directly upon the advancing regiment. A discharge 
passed over their heads. Deliberately lowering his piece 
and reloading, he seized the lanyard in his own hand and 
attempted to fire. The primer failed. Coolly securing 
and adjusting a new primer, he once more sighted and 
screwed down his gun so that it would rake mercilessly 
through the ranks now close upon him. He straight- 
ened himself from sighting, stepped back, and was actu- 
ally making the motion to jerk the lanyard, when a 
bullet from the rifle of a Union soldier not thirty yards 



188 THE END OF AN ERA 

away pierced his brain, and he fell forward across his 
gun. 

On the left, the Massachusetts men, inspired by the 
shouts from Keno's and Parke's commands, moved up 
and drove back the Blues. Captain Wise, scorning the 
j^rotection of the trees behind which, by his command, 
his men were concealed, passed back and forth along his 
attenuated line, counseling the men to keep cool and fire 
close. In such a position, under the fire of two regiments 
concentrated upon a single company, his conduct was 
almost suicidal. It was not long before his sword arm 
fell helpless by his side, fractured near the wrist by a 
minie-ball. Untying a handkerchief about his neck, he 
bandaged the wounded limb, laughingly remarking that 
he was fortunate it was no worse ; but he had scarcely 
resumed command of his men, when he fell mortally 
wounded. 

His soldiers were passionately attached to him, and, 
although the fire was by this time becoming murderous, 
two of the Blues spread a blanket, lifted him gently upon 
it, and, bearing him between them, trotted off sullenly 
to the rear as the Union troops were climbing over the 
Confederate redoubt to their right. 

All was over as far as the defense of Roanoke Island 
was concerned. Two small reinforcements landed on the 
north end of the island that morning, one under Colonel 
Green, another under Major Fry, but neither were in 
time to participate in the fight. 

Our little band had done its best ; two hundred and 
fifty-one killed and wounded in the Union ranks (more 
than half as many as our whole force engaged) testified 
to the honest fighting of our men. 

The capture of the redoubt placed the Union forces 
directly in rear of the Confederate shore batteries ; and, 



THE ROANOKE ISLAND TRAGEDY 189 

as no other positions on the island were defensible, Colo- 
nel Shaw surrendered his entire force. 

My poor brother was borne by his men along an unfre- 
quented path to the eastern side of the island. There 
they found a small boat, and, obedient to his earnest 
desire, were conveying him to my father's headquarters 
at Nag's Head, where he would have' died. Unfortu- 
nately, a party of the 9th New York under Colonel Rush 
Hawkins pursued the same path as themselves, and, see- 
ing the boat, opened fire upon it and ordered it to re- 
turn. One of these shots gave my brother a third wound. 
A letter written thirty-two years afterwards by Colonel 
Hawkins, who in these days of restored amity I am proud 
to number among my friends, tells the sad, sad story of 
the death of that sweetest brother boy ever had. 

A few days later, a flag-of-truce boat brought up the 
bodies of our dead. When, in the Capitol of Virginia at 
Richmond, I gazed for the last time in the cold, calm face ; 
when I saw the black pageant which testified to the gen- 
eral movirning as they bore him to his last resting-j)lace in 
beautiful Hollywood, — I began to realize as never before 
that war is not all brilliant deeds and glory, but a gaunt, 
heartless wolf that comes boldly into the most sacred 
precincts, and snatches even the sucking babe from the 
mother's breast ; that the most cherished treasure is its 
favorite object of destruction ; that it ever plants its fangs 
in the bravest and tenderest hearts ; and that that which 
we prize the most is surest to be seized by its insatiate 
rapacity. 

But, reader, the death of a dear one in war does not 
bring with it the chastened sorrow of a peaceful death. It 
inflames and infuriates the passion for blood ; it intensi- 
fies the thirst for another opportunity to see it flow. 

The feeling which possessed me then, I well remember. 



J9Q THE END OF AN ERA 

It was, " How long, oh, how long, will it be, before I can 
bury these hands in the heart of some of those who 
wrought this deed ! " 

In less than a month, the Confederate war-dogs tore, 
before my very eyes, their bleeding victims in a way that 
seemed an answer to my prayer for vengeance. 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 

The building of the iron-clad afterwards famous all 
over the world as the Virginia, or the Merrimae, was a 
subject of daily conversation in our household from the 
time the Gosport Navy Yard was burned and abandoned 
by the Union troops in April, 1861. 

My father, during his service in Congress, was for some 
years upon the Committee on Naval Affairs ; his acquaint- 
ance with naval officers resulting from that fact, and from 
his long residence at Rio de Janeiro, was unusually wide- 
spread. Commodore James Barron was one of his con- 
stituents and warm friends. Commodore Barron was the 
gallant but unfortunate officer who killed Decatur in a 
duel, and was himself severely wounded. Besides other 
contributions of value to the navy, he conceived the idea 
of an impregnable steam propeller, armed with a pyrami- 
dal beak, and a terrapin-shaped back at an acute angle to 
the line of projectiles fired from its own level. He called 
it a marine catapulta, and had complete models, plans, 
and descriptions, which he exhibited to the naval commit- 
tee, in the effort to have a ship constructed on these lines. 
He made little impression, however ; for in those days 
steam navigation had attained no very great success, — 
much less the utilization of iron upon ships. He sub- 
sequently presented the model to my father, who had also 
a large number of models of other vessels. 

In our rummaging about the place, we boys found these 



Hi 



192 THE END OF AN ERA 

models in some old boxes, and took them down to our 
millpond, where we anchored them as part of our minia- 
ture fleet. The Barron model, and one constructed by 
Lieutenant Williamson of the navy, were the most con- 
spicuous, making quite a proud addition to our naval dis- 
play. This was in 1860. 

We also possessed a brass cannon about eighteen inches 
long, which had been cast for us by a convict in the Vir- 
ginia Penitentiary. That cannon was stamped with the 
words " Union and Constitution," but its use by its pos- 
sessors was most lawless. Modeling slugs for it by pour- 
ing melted lead into holes made by sticking our rammer 
in the sand, we were constantly firing these slugs, to the 
great peril of everybody in the vicinity. 

One of our neighbors, a Ca^itain Johnson, an old sea- 
man, living about a mile down the creek, had a flock of 
geese ; and from one of his voyages in Indian seas he had 
brought back six coolie boys, who were probably appren- 
ticed to him. These coolies were passionately fond of the 
water, and were almost constantly in sight, bathing, or 
rowing, or sailing a felucca-rigged boat. After trying the 
range of our gun upon Captain Johnson's geese, we began 
to practice upon the coolies. On a certain evening. Cap- 
tain Johnson appeared in full marine rig at our landing, 
rowed by his six coolies, and, announcing to our father 
the sport in which we had been engaged, gave notice that 
he had a gun of his own, with which, if we did not 
promptly cease our diversion, he would open a return fire. 

My father, who was a friend of Captain Johnson, and 
indignant at our reckless misconduct, gave us all a bad 
half hour in consequence of this visit. We were sum- 
moned before him, and, after considerable discussion con- 
cerning the punishment we should receive, were marched 
in a body to the landing and made to apologize to the 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 193 

coolies, who grinned and showed their teeth. After that 
we were good friends of the coolies, and our future opera- 
tions with the gun were confined to the millpond on the 
opposite side of the farm. In our new field, it promptly 
occurred to us, as it would to most boys, that the best tar- 
gets for our cannon were the models of the iron-clads 
anchored out in the pond. Unfortunately, they had no 
iron upon them ; and, such was the precision we had ac- 
quired in our practice upon Johnson's geese and coolies, 
that in a few days the models of Commodore Barron and 
Lieutenant Williamson were riddled, and ignominiously 
disappeared. They were resting in the mud at the bot- 
tom of our millpond when the war broke out. 

The following spring, after visiting the navy yard and 
seeing the partially burned Merrimac, my father became 
enthusiastic upon the subject of raising her and building 
upon her frame an iron-clad ship on the lines of Com- 
modore Barron's model. Imbued with this idea, he insti- 
tuted rigorous inquiries for the model ; but, for reasons 
which may well be understood, none of us boys aided him 
much in the search. Failing to find his model, he wrote 
to General Lee, who was then commander-in-chief of the 
Virginia forces, an elaborate description of Commodore 
Barron's invention, and made rough drawings, urging the 
use of the Merrimac for carrying out the design. He 
always believed and declared that this was the first sug- 
gestion which led to the building of the Virginia. 

We all knew that an iron-clad ship was being built, and 
from time to time informed ourselves of the progress 
made ; and great things were expected from her. So deep 
was my father's interest in her, that he several times vis- 
ited the navy yard to inspect her. He repeatedly ex- 
pressed the opinion that she was being built to draw too 
much water, and that her beak or ramming prow was im- 



194 THE END OF AN ERA 

properly constructed in this, that it was horizontal at the 
top and sloped upward from the bottom, whereas it shoidd 
have been horizontal on the bottom and made to slope 
downward to a point. When the ship was launched, he 
was indignant because the lower edge or eaves of her 
armor-clad covering stood several feet out of the water, 
and it was necessary to ballast her heavily to bring 
her sheathing below the water line. This increased her 
draught to eighteen feet, which was, as he declared, en- 
tirely unnecessary. He insisted that this condition was 
due to the failure of the naval architects (in calculating 
the water which she would draw when sheathed with 
iron) to deduct from the weight of her sheathing the 
weight of masts, spars, rigging, and sails, which were 
dispensed with. 

Admiral Buchanan, Commodore Forrest, Captain 
Brooke, and all the prominent naval men connected with 
the Norfolk Navy Yard were personal and warm friends 
of my father. He did not hesitate to express his views 
concerning these things, but they, as professional men 
generally do, made light of the criticisms of a layman. 
Nevertheless, I think that many naval authorities are now 
disposed to admit that the chief reason why the Virginia 
did not triumph completely over the Monitor was her 
great draught of water, the loss of her prow, and the 
twisting of her stem in ramming the Cumberland. 

After the disaster of Roanoke Island, my father re- 
turned to his home on sick leave, where for some time 
his life was in danger from pneumonia, aggravated by ex- 
posure on the retreat from Roanoke Island. Our house 
was visited almost daily during this period by distin- 
guished military and naval officers from the city, who 
came to express their interest and sympathy. 

It was before the day of steam launches, and the ap- 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 195 

pearance of the distinguished officers and of the naval 
boats which came up, manned by a dozen oarsmen, whose 
stroke fell as that of one man, was very striking. During 
these visits, they diverted my father with full descriptions 
of the progress made in arming and equijjping the Vir- 
ginia, and we were advised that the time of her comple- 
tion, and the attack upon the vessels in Hampton Roads, 
was rapidly approaching. 

There was dear old Commodore Forrest, tall, dignified, 
and with a face as sweet as that of a woman, surmounted 
by a great shock of white hair like the mane of some royal 
beast ; and Captain Buchanan, far less striking in appear- 
ance, quiet, kindly, and as unpretentious as a country 
farmer, but with an eye which age had not dimmed, and 
which even then was filled with the light of battle. They 
were both old men. Commodore Forrest was sixty-five, 
and Captain Buchanan sixty-two. There was also Captain 
Brooke, taciturn and dreamy ; and Lieutenant Catesby 
Jones, a quiet man of forty ; and Lieutenant Minor, young, 
quick, and fidgety as a wren ; and all the rest of them, 
mingling with us simply and unostentatiously, as if im- 
conscious that the issues of one of the greatest struggles 
the world ever witnessed were committed to their keeping, 
and that they were to emerge from it with names which 
will be remembered as long as the records of naval war- 
fare are preserved. 

Almost daily we boys went to Norfolk for the mail, 
or on some domestic mission. We preferred our boat, 
and seldom failed, before we left Norfolk harbor, to 
stand over toward the Gosport Navy Yard and sail around 
and take a look at the Merrimac. Such we called her, 
for we had never become accustomed to the new name, 
Virginia. My father was now convalescent, and secured 
the promise that he would be advised when the ship was 



196 THE END OF AN ERA 

ready to sail for the attack. On March 7, he received 
a note from Commodore Forrest, or one of those who 
knew, advising him that the attack would be made upon 
the following day. He consented that my brother 
Richard and myself should accompany him, and the next 
morning the horses, which now had been well fed and 
rested for a month at home, were saddled and ready for 
us at the door. 

When we reached the city, the Merrimac, accompanied 
by two little gunboats, the Beaufort and the Kaleigh, had 
already passed out, and all three were below Fort Nor- 
folk. The waterway is more circuitous than that by 
land, and we were sure we should reach Se well's Point, the 
most favorable position for observing the conflict, before 
the slow-moving vessels ; in this we were correct. After 
a sharp gallop of eigjat miles, we rode out upon the sandy 
hills facing Hampton Roads at Sewell's Point. 

The scene was truly inspiring. Hampton Roads is as 
beautiful a sheet of water as any on the face of the globe. 
It is formed by the confluence of the James, the Nanse- 
mond, and the Elizabeth rivers. The James enters it 
from the west, the Nansemond from the south, and the 
Elizabeth from the east. The tides in the Roads run 
north and south, and pass to and from the Chesapeake 
Bay through a narrow entrance at the north, between Old 
Point Comfort and Willoughby's Spit. Midway between 
these is the fort then known as Rip-Raps, the proper 
name of which was Fort Calhoun, now changed to Fort 
Wool. On the eastern side of the Roads the Confeder- 
ates had fortified two points, — Sewell's Point, where we 
were, and Lambert's Point, at the mouth of the Eliza- 
beth. On the southern side, between the mouths of the 
Elizabeth and Nansemond rivers, were the Confederate 
fortifications on Craney Island. On the western side, at 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 197 

the entrance to the Roads, is Fortress Monroe. From 
there the land runs westwardly to Hampton, thence south- 
wardly to Newport News, which marks the entrance of 
the James River, The Roads are about four miles in 
width and seven in length. From where we stood, look- 
ing north, Fortress Monroe and the Rip-Raps were, 
perhaps, four miles away ; looking westward across the 
Roads, Newport News was five miles away ; and, looking 
south, Lambert's Point and Craney Island were plainly 
visible three miles oft". 

Upon the battlements of Fortress Monroe and the Rip- 
Raps great numbers of Union troojis could be seen 
through field-glasses, and we could also make ovit the 
camps and fortifications of the enemy at Newport News, 
and between that point and Hampton, while our own 
people lined the shores and crowded the ramparts at 
Craney Island and Lambert's Point. 

Anchored in the Roads were a great number of ves- 
sels of every description, steam and sail, from the smallest 
tugs and sloops to the largest transports and warships. 
Rumors of the attack had brought down to Sewell's 
Point a number of civilians, and the whole appearance 
of the scene was suggestive of the greatest performance 
ever given in the largest- theatre ever seen. The Merri- 
mac and her attendants had passed Craney Island, and 
were coming down the channel east of Craney Island 
light, when we arrived. As she passed our fortifications, 
she was saluted and cheered, and returned the salutes. 
From the way in which she was shaping her course 
when first seen, it looked to the uninitiated as if she 
proposed to sail directly upon the Rip-Raps. Such 
hurrying and scurrying was seen among the non-combat- 
ant craft in the Roads as was never witnessed before. 
From great three-masters and double-deck steamers to 



198 THE END OF AN ERA 

little tugs and sailboats, all weiglied or slipped anchor 
and made sail or steam for Fortress Monroe, except three 
dauntless war vessels, — two steamers, the Minnesota and 
the Roanoke, and one sailing vessel, the St. Lawrence, — 
whose duty called them in the opposite direction. A 
long tongue of shoal, running out from Craney Island, 
compelled the Merrimac to go below Sewell's Point 
before she struck the main channel ; then she swung 
into it and pointed westward, showing her destination, 
for she headed straight for Newpoi't News, where the 
masts and spars of the Congress and the Cumberland we're 
plainly visible. 

It was now past midday. The Merrimac on her new 
course was nearly stern to us, and grew smaller and 
smaller as she followed the south channel to Newport 
News. The three United States vessels — Minnesota, 
Koanoke, and St. Lawrence — started after her by what 
is known as the north channel. It was a bitter disap- 
pointment to us that the battle was to be waged so far 
away, but the ships and their movements were still in 
view. The sun was shining, and a fresh March breeze 
would, we thought, blow away the smoke. It seemed an 
eternity before the first gun was fired. The Merrimac, 
Cumberland, and Congress were nearly ranged in our 
line of vision. The Merrimac appeared to us as if she 
was almost in contact with the nearest of the two vessels. 
Captain Buchanan states in his report that he was within 
less than a mile of the Cumberland when he commenced 
the engagement by a shot at her from his bow gun. We 
saw a great puff of smoke roll up and float off from the 
Merrimac; a moment later, the flashes of broadsides 
and tremendous rolls of smoke from the Congress, the 
Cumberland, the batteries on shore, and the Union gun- 
boats; and then came the thunderous sounds, follow- 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 199 

iiie: each other in the same order in which we had seen 
the smoke. The engagement had begun. 

It was a time of supreme excitement and supreme 
suspense ; for the details, we who had no glasses were 
dependent upon those who had. " She has passed the 
Congress ! " exclaimed an officer, who was straining for- 
ward, trying to descry the positions of the ships through 
the smoke, which now enveloped the point of Newport 
News and the water beyond. Bang — crash — roar — 
went the guns, single shots and broadsides, making all 
the noise that any boy could wish. " She is heading 
direct for the Cumberland ! " shouted another between 
the thunders of the bi-oadsides. " She has rammed the 
Cumberland ! " was announced fifteen minutes after the 
first gun was heard, and our people gave three cheers. 
Our teeth chattering with excitement, we awaited the 
next announcement ; it soon came : " The Cumberland 
is sinking ! " and again we cheered. Then came an 
ominous lull, the meaning of which we did not know. 
Those watching through the glasses notified us that three 
steamers were in sight, standing down James River, 
and we knew it was Commander Tucker with the Pat- 
rick Henry, Jamestown, and Teazer. Think of it ! The 
Jamestown, which, but four years ago, had brought the re- 
mains of President Monroe to Richmond, with the New 
York Seventh Regiment, on that visit of fraternity and 
good-will. Here she was, armed as a war-vessel, fight- 
ing those very men ! 

Once more the cannon belched and thundered. This 
time what we saw and heard was alarming : " The Merri- 
mac is running up the river, away from the Congress and 
other vessels ; she is fighting the shore batteries as she 
goes." It looked indeed as if she was disabled in some 
way ; again a lull and anxious waiting. " The Merrimac 



200 THE END OF AN ERA 

is turning around and coming back ! " Again the roar 
of a hot engagement with the forts ; another lull and 
another heavy roll. " She is back pounding the Congress, 
and raking her fore and aft. The Congress is aground." 
Again our people went wild with enthusiasm. Poor fel- 
lows on the Congress ! When the Merrimac withdrew 
and passed upstream, it was only to gain deep water in 
order to wind her, for where she had rammed the Cum- 
berland, her keel was in the mud and she could not be 
put about. The fearless sailors on the Congress, deluded 
by the appearance of retreat, believed that she had hauled 
off, and, leaving their guns, gave three cheers. Having 
brought his ship around into position to attack the Con- 
gress, Captain Buchanan now came back at her, and, as 
he approached, blew up a transport alongside the wharf, 
sunk one schooner, captured another, and proceeded to 
rake the Congress where she had run ashore in shoal 
water. 

Describing this stage of the fight, Captain Buchanan 
says in his report : " The carnage, havoc, and dismay 
caused by our fire compelled them to haul down their 
colors and to hoist a white flag at their gaff and half mast, 
and another at the main. The crew instantly took to 
their boats and landed. Our fire immediately ceased, and 
a signal was made for the Beaufort to come within hail. 
He then ordered Lieutenant Commander Parker to take 
possession of the Congress, secure the officers as prison- 
ers, allow the crew to land, and burn the ship. This 
Captain Parker did, receiving her flag and surrender 
from Commander Smith and Lieutenant Pendergrast, 
with the sidearms of those officers. They delivered them- 
selves as prisoners of war on board the Beaufort, and 
afterwards being permitted, at their own request, to 
return to the ship to assist in removing the wounded, 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 201 

never returned. The Beaufort and Raleigh, while alonir- 
side the Congress after her surrender, and while she had 
two white flags flying, were subjected to a heavy fire from 
the shore and from the Congress, and withdrew without 
setting her afire, after losing several valuable officers and 
men. 

Then Lieutenant Minor was sent to burn the ship, 
when he was fired upon and severely wounded. His boat 
was recalled, and Captain Buchanan ordered the Congress 
to be destroyed by hot shot and incendiary shell. 

By this time the ships from Old Point opened fire upon 
the Merrimac. The Minnesota grounded in the North 
channel ; the shoalness of the water pi-evented the near 
approach of the Merrimac. The Roanoke and St. Law- 
rence, warned by the fate of the Cumberland and Con- 
gress, retired under the guns of Fortress Monroe. The 
Merrimac pounded away at the grounded Minnesota until 
the pilots warned her commander that it was no longer 
safe to remain in that position ; then, returning by the 
south channel, she had an opportunity to open again upon 
the Minnesota, although the shallow water was between 
the two ; and afterwards upon the St. Lawrence, which 
responded with several broadsides. It was too tantalizing 
to see these vessels, which in deep water would have been 
completely at her mercy, protected from her assaults by 
the shoals. By this time it was dark, and the Merrimac 
anchored off Sewell's Point. The western sky was illu- 
minated with the burning Congress, her loaded guns were 
successively discharged as the flames reached them, until, 
a few minutes past midnight, her magazine exploded 
with a tremendous report. 

Thus ended the first day's doings of the Merrimac. 
Soon after she anchored, some of her officers came ashore, 
and we, who had been waiting all day, and who had now 



202 THE END OF AN ERA 

decided to remain all night in order to see the next day's 
operations, were gratified with a full and graphic descrip- 
tion of the fighting. Captain Buchanan, Lieutenant 
Minor, and the other wounded were sent to Norfolk. 
Having been tendered the hospitality of Sewell's Point 
by some of the officers, our party remained, and were 
lulled to sleep by the firing of the guns of the burning 
Congress, and rudely aroused about midnight by the 
tremendous explosion of her magazine. 

Up betimes in the morning, we saw the Minnesota still 
ashore. She was nearly in line with us, and about a mile 
nearer to us than Newport News. A tug was beside her, 
and a very odd-looking iron battery. We expected great 
things from this day's operations. About eight o'clock, 
the Merrimac ran down to engage them, firing at the 
Minnesota, and occasionally at the iron battery. She was 
now under command of Lieutenant Jones. We confi- 
dently expected her to be able to get very near to the 
Minnesota, but in this the pilots were mistaken. When 
about a mile from the frigate, she ran ashore, and was 
some time backing before she got afloat. Her great 
length and draught rendered it difficult to work her. 
Notwithstanding these delays, she succeeded in damaging 
the Minnesota seriously, and in blowing up the tug-boat 
Dragon lying alongside her. 

While this was going on, the iron battery, which looked 
like a cheese-box floating on a shingle, moved out from 
behind the frigate and advanced to meet the Merrimac. 
The disparity in size between the two was remarkable ; 
we could not doubt that the MeiTimac would, either by 
shot or by ramming, make short work of the cheese-box ; 
but as time wore on, we began to realize that the new- 
comer was a tough customer. Her turret resisted the 
shells of the Merrimac, and not only was she speedier, 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 203 

but her draught was so mucli less than that of her an- 
tagonist that she could run off into shallow water and 
prevent the Merriniac from ramming her. There was no 
lack of i)luck shown by either vessel. The little Monitor 
came right up and laid herself alongside as if she had 
been a giant. She was quicker in every way than her 
antagonist, and presented the appearance of a saucy 
kingbird pecking at a very large and very black crow. 

The first shot fired by the Merrimac missed the Moni- 
tor, which was a novel experience for the gunners who 
had been riddling the hulls of frigates. Then, again, when 
the eleven-inch solid sliot struck the casemates, knock- 
ing the men of the Merrimac down and leaving them 
dazed and bleeding at the nose from the tremendous 
impact, they realized that the cheese-box was loaded as 
none of the other vessels had been. Neither vessel could 
penetrate the armor of the other ; both tried ramming 
unsuccessfully : the Monitor had not mass sufficient to 
injure the Merrimac ; the Merrimac only gave tlie Moni- 
tor a glancing ram, weakened by the Monitor's superior 
speed ; and then the Monitor ran off into shallow water, 
safe from pursuit. 

Twice we thought the Merrimac had won the fight. 
On the first occasion, the Monitor went out of action, it 
seems, to replenish the ammunition in the turret, it being 
impossible to use the scuttle l)y which ammunition was 
passed unless the turret was stationary and in a certain 
position. The second occasion was about eleven o'clock, 
when a shell from the Merrimac struck the Monitor's 
pilot-house, and seemed to have penetrated the ship. 
She drifted off aimlessly towards shoal water ; her guns 
were silent, and the peoj)le on board the Minnesota gave 
up hope and prepared to burn her. This was when 
Lieutenant Worden, commander of the Monitor, was 



204 THE END OF AN ERA 

blinded and the steersman stunned. Their position was 
so isolated that no one knew their condition for some 
minutes ; then Lieutenant Greene discovered it, took 
command, and brought the vessel back into action. 

Shortly afterwards, Lieutenant Jones withdrew the 
Merrimac. In his report of the action, he said : " The 
pilots declaring- that we could get no nearer the Minne- 
sota, and believing her to be entirely disabled, and the 
Monitor having run into shoal water, which prevented 
our doing her any further injury, we ceased firing at 
twelve o'clock and proceeded to Noi'folk. The stem is 
twisted and the ship leaks ; we have lost the prow, star- 
board anchor, and all the boats. The armor is somewhat 
damaged, the steam-pipe and smoke-stack both riddled ; 
the muzzles of two of the guns shot away." 

When fi'om the shore we saw the Merrimac haul off 
and head for Norfolk, we could not credit the evidence of 
our own senses. " Ah ! " we thought, " dear old Buch- 
anan would never have done it." Lieutenant Jones was 
afterwards fully justified by his superiors, but it did 
seem to us that he ought to have stayed there until he 
drove the Monitor away. Beside the reasons assigned 
above, Lieutenant Jones declared that it was necesary to 
leave when he did, in order to cross the Elizabeth River 
bar. The inconclusive result of that fight has left to 
endless discussion among naval men the question, " AVhich 
was the better ship of the two ? " It is not within the 
scope of this volume to investigate that problem. It is 
certain that, up to the time the Monitor ai)peared, the 
Merrimac seemed irresistible, and that but for the pre- 
sence of the Monitor, she would have made short work 
of the Minnesota. It is equally certain that the Moni- 
tor performed her task of defense. It is said she was 
anxious to renew the fight ; but two weeks later, the 



THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 205 

Merrimac went down into deep water, where the Monitor 
was lying under the guns of Fortress Monroe, and tried to 
coax her out, but she would not come, and even permitted 
the Jamestown and Beaufort to sail up to Hampton and 
capture two schooners laden with hay. The truth is 
that, if the Merrimac could have induced the Monitor to 
meet her in deep water, she would easily have rammed 
and sunk her. 

On our ride back to the city, my father, while greatly 
elated at what had been done, continued to deplore the 
errors of construction in the Merrimac, which the two 
days' fighting had made all the more manifest ; but we 
boys thought she had earned glory enough, and joined the 
others in the general jubilation. 

Everybody in Norfolk knew the officers and men on 
board our ships ; many of them were natives of the town. 
When they were granted shore leave, they were given a 
triumphal reception. Some time since, I read an account 
of the Dutch admiral, De Ruyter, who, the day after his 
four days' battle with the English fleet, was seen in his 
yard in his shirt-sleeves, with a basket on his arm, feeding 
his hens and sweeping out his cabin. It reminded me 
of the simple lives and unpretentious behavior of those 
splendid fellows who handled the Merrimac. Yesterday, 
they revolutionized the naval warfare of the world ; to-day, 
they were walking about the streets of Norfolk, or sitting 
at their firesides, as if unaware that fame was trumpeting 
their names to the ends of the earth. 



CHAPTER XIV 
A REFUGEE 

Notwithstanding our elation over the performances 
of the Merrimae, which every one in the Confederacy re- 
garded as brilliant victories, the fact that Norfolk was in 
imminent peril became more and more apparent. 

The lodgment gained by the Union forces at Roanoke, 
and their possession of the sounds and rivers on the North 
Carolina coast, had given them control of the canals tribu- 
tary to the city, and their presence was a constant menace 
to the railroads, which were now the chief remaining 
means of supplies. Union troops could at any time^ be 
transported up the North Carolina rivers to within a few 
miles of the Seaboard and Petersburg lines. 

If our army should at any time retreat from the lower 
peninsula between the York and the James, the Peters- 
burg line would be further imperiled ; for in that event, it " 
would be easy to throw a force of Union troops across the 
James to cut the railroad. The fifteen thousand Con- 
federate troops in and about Norfolk would then be in a 
position of extreme danger. 

These things were, of course, much more apparent to 
those in command than to us bo3^s ; but throughout March 
and April we saw and heard enough to make us realize 
that there was a grave prospect that Norfolk might at any 
time be evacuated, and our home left within the Union 
lines. 

My father became so thoroughly satisfied of the ap- 



A REFUGEE , 207 

proaching evacuation of Norfolk that he suspended farm- 
ing operations, directed the sale of surplus stock to the 
Confederate commissary, ordered that all the hogs should 
be killed and cured, and that all the corn upon the place 
should be ground and sold. Out of abundant precaution, 
the family was removed in the latter part of April to the 
vicinity of Richmond, and thither also were sent a num- 
ber of the young, able-bodied slaves. 

Meanwhile, his military duties called him to Richmond, 
where he was placed in command of the inner line of de- 
fenses at Chaffin's farm, on the James River. 

Our home was thus left in the temporary custody of the 
miller, a white man, and a few of the old trusted slaves, 
my father having arranged with a friend in Norfolk, a 
man past the age of military service, that, in the event of 
the evacuation of the city, he would move out and take 
possession of RoUeston, occupy it, and as far as possible 
act as protector. 

About May 1, satisfied that the crisis was near at hand, 
my father gave my brother Richard a leave of absence, 
and he and I, with an orderly, were sent to Rolleston to 
do what we could towards disposing of the remaining 
stock, and shipping our movables to a place of safety. 

The plans of the military authorities were of course 
guarded with as much secrecy as possible, but upon our 
journey to Norfolk, the crowded condition of the railroads 
and the immense shipments of government stores and 
munitions not only confirmed us in the opinion that 
this was preparatory to evacuation, but satisfied us it was 
almost idle to hope to secure transportation for our pri- 
vate effects. 

Still, we hustled around in a very lively way. We sold 
some horses and cattle to the government, and, with a 
little more time, would have succeeded fairly well in strip- 



208 . THE END OF AN ERA 

ping the old place " down to bare poles," as the sailors 
say. It was a sad and lonely niiission. The farm was 
just beginning to assume an orderly and well-kept appear- 
ance. Two years of hard work, and the expenditure of a 
large amount of money in new buildings and fences and 
in painting, had brought it out wonderfully. New roads 
had been built, trees had been planted, and ragged spots 
had been cleaned up, until RoUeston, while nothing grand 
or fine, was a sweet, home-like old farm, endeared to us 
especially by the memory of the delightful days of boy- 
hood which we had spent there. Now everything about 
it was gloomy and sad enough. Not a human being was 
in the house with us, except Skaggs, the white orderly, 
who was sent to assist us, and old Aunt Mary Anne, the 
cook, and Jim, the butler. Jim my father regarded as 
his man Friday. Jim was to accompany us on our return 
to Richmond. Nobody doubted that one so faithful and 
so long trusted would prove true in this emergency. 

We wandered back and forth through the old house, 
looking over the deserted rooms to see what particular 
ai'ticles, most prized, we might wrap in small packages 
for removal, in case we could not arrange for the trans- 
portation of everything. It was a difficult problem to 
solve. The house was filled with souvenirs from all parts 
of Europe and North and South America. That was 
before the daj^s of bricabi-ac, but our house aboimded in 
the things now so called. Our drawing-room contained 
several pictures of great value, and many valuable histori- 
cal relics. Among the pictures were the original of Her- 
ring's Village Blacksmith ; a beautiful Bacchante, painted 
in 1829 by Pauline Laurent, presented to my father by 
Baron Loraonizoff ; and a set of exquisite Teniers (paint- 
ings of Dutch drinking-scenes), beside sundry works of 
less note but great value. The cabinets were literally 



A REFUGEE 209 

loaded with pretty souvenirs of foreign travel, and articles 
of historic interest. 

We determined that these things should be first packed 
and shipped, and had succeeded, on our visit to the city 
the day before, in securing a promise from a friend in the 
transportation department that, if we had them in Norfolk 
the next day, he would send them through for us, even 
i : they went along with government goods. Accordingly, 
we had ordered up the lumber for boxing them, and with 
Skaggs and Jim were just preparing to pack, when, look- 
ing out of the window, we saw, rapidly approaching in a 
buggy, the friend whom our father had engaged to occupy 
the farm in case Norfolk was evacuated. As he drove up 
to the yard gate, opened it hastily, and hurried to the 
front steps, he exclaimed excitedly, even before alighting, 
" The Yankees are coming ! The Yankees are coming ! 
You had better get out of here quickly, if you don't want 
them to catch you ! " Then, in calmer tones, he told us 
that the city was being evacuated ; that the garrison from 
Sewell's Point and Lambert's Point had been withdrawn 
during the night, and, together with the troops in the 
intrenched camps between us and Norfolk, had all been 
marched into the city, and transported quietly under 
cover of darkness to the south side of the Elizabeth River ; 
that the work of destroying the Gosport Navy Yard at 
Portsmouth had begun ; that the Merrimac had sailed out 
of the harbor to go up James River ; that the enemy at 
Fortress Monroe were landing troops at Sewell's Point and 
Willoughby's Spit ; that they were rapidly approaching, 
if they had not already reached, the city ; and that there 
was not a Confederate soldier between us and them. 

It took us about two minutes to decide upon our course 
of action. By taking the Princess Anne County road 
via Great Bridge, we could pass around the head of the 



210 THE END OF AN ERA 

eastern branch of the Elizabeth River, and, going thence 
westwardly to Suffolk, get once more within the Confed- 
erate lines. We bore in mind that the Union troops ii\ 
North Carolina were probably acting in concert with those 
at Fortress Monroe, and, marching up from the Soutt, 
might intercept us. Skaggs hurried to the stable, hai-- 
nessed four mules to a farm wagon, and went straight to 
the smoke house. We harnessed a pair of carriage hors(;S 
to our best carriage, and proceeded to the house. The 
faithful Jim was on hand to aid in loading the carriage 
with such silverware and valuables as it would hold, and 
such of the farm hands as were left aided Skaggs in 
loading the wagon with meat. 

Just before we were ready to start, Jim disappeared. 
In vain we called and searched for him. We never saw 
him again. The prospect of freedom overcame a lifetime 
of love and loyalty. There never was an hour of his life 
at which he could not have had his freedom for the 
asking. He had several times refused it. But now the 
opportunity was irresistible. 

Skaggs with his wagon drove out ahead of us. My 
brother for the last time disappeared in the house. When 
he returned, he had in his hands a long roll of canvas. 
He had with his knife cut " The Village Blacksmith " out 
of its frame, and wrapped it upon a roller. We tied it 
firmly, and strapped it in the top of the carriage. After 
the war, we sold that picture for fifteen hundred dollars, 
and the money came at a very good time. During the 
present year (1897), the press has announced its sale in 
England at a very large sum. Some years afterwards, 
I found the Bacchante of Pauline Laurent in the parlor 
of a Union volunteer general in W^ashington, and have it 
now. He delivered it upon a very persuasive note from 
General Schofield, then Secretary of War. Our Teniers 



A REFUGEE 211 

paintings, and several others of considerable value, have 
never been recovered. Soon after the war ended. General 
Brown, of the Freedmen's Bureau, returned to my father 
a valuable meerschaum pipe, the gift of the King of Hol- 
land to a friend ; and when I was in Congress, General 
B. F. Butler presented me with a cup made from the ori- 
ginal timber of the United States ship Constitution, re- 
ceived by my father from Captain Percival, of the navy. 
Thus, from time to time, a few of the things we left that 
day drifted back to us ; but the great bulk of them were 
swept out by the tide, and lost upon the all-engulfing sea 
of war. My father's correspondence, which was very 
extensive, was left in his library. It was placed by the 
Union authorities in the hands of the late Ben: Perley 
Poore, of Boston, for examination. It was said that the 
chief purpose of such searches was to find, if possible, 
disloyal correspondence between Southern leaders and 
people in the North known as Southern sympathizers. 
Many years after the war, a box of unimportant letters was 
returned to me by one of the departments. The valuable 
portions of the correspondence were missing. When Mr. 
Poore died, a few years ago, his effects were advertised 
for sale, and among them were a great number of letters 
from my father's files. 

We bade farewell to Rolleston with heavy hearts, and 
bent our cheerless way to Great Bridge. Even before 
vfe left, the explosions in Norfolk began, and we heard 
them as we drove along. We were very anxious lest the 
enemy, coming up from the South, should reach Great 
Bridge before we did, but we passed it safely, and late in 
the night reached Suffolk. It was a profound relief when 
we found ourselves once more safely within the Confeder- 
ate lines. We saved our bacon in more senses than one ; 
for a party of Union troops reached our place a few hours 



212 THE END OF AN ERA 

after we left it, and the next day the Union forces oc- 
cupied the route we had traveled to Suffolk. Not long 
after our arrival there, we heard an unusually loud explo- 
sion, which, as we afterwards learned, was the blowing-up 
of the magazine of the Merrimac, an event which de- 
pressed us greatly. 

Reaching Richmond after several days' quiet driving, 
we were directed to proceed to my sister's home in Gooch- 
land County, whither the women of our family had pre- 
ceded us. There I remained until shortly after the seven 
days' fighting about Richmond, when I was sent in charge 
of some of our slaves to a temporary home secured by my 
father in the mountains of southwest Virginia, at Rocky 
Mount, in Franklin County. He correctly foresaw that, 
whatever happened, no enemy would penetrate into that 
remote region. 

Before our departure for Franldin County, I made sev- 
eral visits to Richmond, which was now on all occasions 
crowded to overflowing with troops. The most vivid im- 
pression of handsome soldiery made upon me during the 
war was by the Third Alabama Regiment. In the two 
months which had elapsed since the evacuation of Nor- 
folk, I had not seen the regiment. Of its splendid con- 
duet in the battle of Seven Pines, and in the other en- 
gagements, I had of course heard, and, knowing many of 
its members, was naturally interested in everything con- 
cerning it. Passing along the streets of Richmond one 
day, I saw three or four soldiers, looking as ragged and 
dirty as the average, and I should have passed them by 
without further attention but for hearing my name called. 
Then it was I recognized a party of the dear old boys 
whom I had known in the intrenched camp at Norfolk. 
It is impossible to convey any idea of the change which 
had been wrought in their appearance by two mouths of 



A REFUGEE 213 

hard campaigning on the Peninsula. Their uniforms, 
once so neat, were worn and torn and patched, marked 
with mud and clay, and scorched by camp-fires. Their 
bright buttons and trimmings had lost all lustre. Their 
hair was long, the freshness of their complexions gone, 
and their eyes seemed lustreless and bleared by camp-fire 
smoke. Even their voices were softened and subdued. 
Oh ! nobody knows, until he has seen it, how marching 
and fighting by day, and sleeping under the stars or in 
the storm at night, can wear men out. The Third Ala- 
bama had had many a hard knock since we parted. In 
one of its earliest engagements, it had been subjected by 
the mistake of some commander to a murderous attack, 
in which it lost its noble colonel, Lomax, whose body 
was never found. I was shocked and surprised, upon 
inquiry for this or that light-hearted fellow whom I had 
known in the gay days of mandolin and guitar and moon- 
light sails, when they camped at Norfolk, to hear that 
he was killed at such a place, or wounded at such a 
place, or lay ill in such and such hospital, or was granted 
sick leave. Nothing I had ever seen or heard before 
so brought home to me the vivid realization that this war 
was becoming all-consuming and all-devouring. 

" And where is the regiment now ? " I asked. It was 
on the nine-mile road, facing the enemy, about seven 
miles from the city, near the Chickahominy bottoms, wait- 
ing to yield up yet other victims to the Confederate cause 
in the seven days' fighting about Richmond. That even- 
ing, I rode down to see them, but there was little to cheer 
one in the visit. There were no more tents, or cooks, or 
attendant servants, or bright uniforms, or bands, or dress 
parades. The camp was located in a copse of pines in 
rear of a line of breastworks from which the Union 
troops had been driven in the battle of Seven Pines, and 



214 THE END OF AN ERA 

which were now made to face the enemy. The men slept 
on the ground, without any covering. The few camp-fires 
were built along the line, and the soldiers were cooking 
their own rough fare. Out at the front, picket firing 
resounded all along the line, and the men seemed to be 
silently brooding upon the deadly storm then gathering. 
The seven days' fighting, from Mechanics ville to Malvern 
Hill, began a little later, and many another friend among 
them yielded up his life in those sultry summer days of 
1862. 

As we were returning to Richmond that afternoon, 
attracted by artillery firing upon the Mechanics ville pike, 
we rode out to Strawberry Hill, a beautiful farm over- 
looking the Chickahominy valley, and witnessed an artil- 
lery duel between Captain Lindsay Walker's battery and 
a Union battery stationed in a field just above Mechan- 
icsville. The firing was across the Chickahominy valley. 
Through field-glasses, large masses of the enemy were 
plainly visible about Mechanicsville, and the spires of 
Richmond were the background of the battery at which 
the Union troops were firing. One of General McClel- 
lan's anchored balloons rode high in the heavens behind 
Mechanicsville, and altogether the sight was exceedingly 
inspiring. The distance between the combatants was not 
more than two miles ; but the damage done in these en- 
counters, with the short-ranged artillery of that day, was 
insignificant. 

It was on this occasion that I first saw President Davis, 
who had ridden out with several members of his staff to 
inspect the lines. Mr. Davis was an excellent horseman, 
and looked well on horseback. He had a passion for mili- 
tary life, and was a man of cool nerves under fire. His 
presence was always greeted with considerable enthusiasm 
by the troops, although he never had the hold upon their 



A REFUGEE 215 

hearts possessed by " Ole Joe," or " Mars' Robert," as 
General Johnston and General Lee were called. I do not 
recollect distinctly who accompanied him, but have an 
impression that his young secretary, Burton Harrison, 
was one of the party. It was a time of deep solicitude 
for Mr. Davis, no doubt, as the army had just changed 
commanders. General Johnston had been wounded at 
Seven Pines, and General Lee had been relieved from 
duty at Charleston and appointed to succeed him. 

The war had by this time produced two comparatively 
new industries. One was the issuing of " shinplaster " 
currency, and the other was the manufacture of fruit 
brandy. 

The United States laws relating to currency and reve- 
nue no longer obtained, and the Confederate laws had 
not been put into enforcement. The lack of small cur- 
rency soon gave rise to the issue of one dollar and fifty- 
cent and twenty-five-cent bills, by nearly all the towns 
and counties of the State. Private bankers also issued 
these bills, and even private individuals. I remember 
particularly one Sylvester P. Cocke, an old fellow who 
had formerly kept a country store at Dover Mills, in 
Goochland County. In 1862, he had a little office upon 
the bank of the " Basin " or terminus of the James River 
and Kanawha Canal, in Richmond. The office was not 
exceeding ten feet square, and stood in the corner of a 
large vacant coal-yard. Mr. Cocke's banking facilities 
consisted of a table, a small safe, a stack of sheets of bills, 
and a stout pair of shears. He had his I. O. U.'s printed 
on ordinary letter-paper. They had in one corner a pic- 
ture of a mastiff lying in front of an iron safe, holding 
its key between his paws, and, besides the date, declared, 
" On demand I promise to pay to bearer " one dollar, 
fifty cents, or twenty-five cents, or ten cents, and were 



216 THE END OF AN ERA 

signed by Sylvester P. Cocke in a clerical hand. There 
he sat signing, or clipping his promises apart with his 
shears, and, although Mr. Cocke's means of redemption 
were an imknown factor, his notes passed current with 
people in Richmond, and all through the valley of the 
James, as if they had been obligations of the Bank of 
England. 

Everybody in the country was engaged in converting 
his fruit into brandy. Wherever there was a clear stream 
and a neighboring orchard, there was sure to be a still. 
Where all these stills and worms and kettles came from, 
nobody could conjecture. It was a great fruit year, and 
there were no markets, and it was apparent that liquor 
would be scarce and high. In July, 1862, I drove our 
horses and carriage from a point just above Richmond to 
the abode of the family in Franklin County, a distance of 
two hundred miles or more, and I feel confident that there 
was not ten miles upon the route in which I did not pass 
one or more fruit distilleries. 

Tlie passion for speculating in things which were likely 
to become high-priced as the war progressed took posses- 
sion of everybody about this time. Staple articles, like 
sugar and coffee and flour, were growing scarce. Pru- 
dent housekeepers who had the means to procure these 
things laid in large supplies. Speculators were buying 
them up, and storing them for the rise which was sure to 
come. About this time also, in view of the scarcity of 
sugar and molasses, people began to cultivate sorghum, 
which thrived in our climate, and yielded a reasonably 
good substitute for cane molasses. 

But the spirit of speculation was not confined to the 
larger products ; it extended to every variety of small 
manufactured articles. On my drive to Rocky Mount, I 
stopped one night in Buckingham County with an old fel- 



A REFUGEE 217 

low who had a wayside tavern and a country store. Dur- 
ing the evening, conversation turned upon the increased 
price of everything, and tlie profits to be made by pur- 
chasing and holding articles which it would soon be diffi- 
cult to procure. I became infected with the ti'ading 
spirit, and on the following morning my host admitted me 
to his store to inspect his stock, and determine whether 
there was anything which I particularly desired. 

War had made sad changes in the appearance of coun- 
try stores. The shelves, once filled with bright prints and 
cloths and rolls of gleaming white goods, were now almost 
empty. Only here and there were a few bolts of common 
cloth, such as the Confederate mills could produce. The 
posts were no longer decorated with bright trace-chains 
and horse-collars and currycombs, but simply displayed 
a few rough shuck collars and improvised farming gear. 
The showcases had been utterly cleaned out of their stock 
of ribbons and laces, cakes and candies, and cotton and 
scissors and gilt things. Perfumed soaps and toilet arti- 
cles, the glory of country stores in peace time, had dis- 
appeared. A few skeins of yarn for knitting socks, and 
cakes of home-made soap and moulds of beeswax, a few 
chunks of maple-sugar, all at very high prices, constituted 
about all the stock in trade that was left. I cast about in 
vain for rare articles in which to invest for a rise, until at 
last I spied, upon a dusty shelf, aC box of watch-crystals ! 
Timidly I inquired the price, and it was not very high. 

" Do you think they will increase in value ? " I asked 
hesitatingly. 

" Increase ? " said the storekeeper ; " young man, you 
have a trader's instincts. Increase ? Why, in a year 
there will not be a watch-crystal in the Confederacy. You 
can name your own profit, and anybody will be glad to 
give it." So I bought the nest of watch-crystals, feeling 



218 THE END OF AN ERA 

sure I had a fortune in them. Perhaps I should have 
made a great profit. With this idea firmly in my mind, 
I nursed them carefully for several days, fully intendmg 
to put them aside until watch-crystals were at the top 
notch of Confederate prices, and then pocket a princely 
gain ; but unfortunately, before I reached the end of that 
j'ourney, I one day, in a fit of absent-mindedness, sat down 
upon the seat in the carriage beneath which my watch- 
crystals were stored, and thus ended my first and last 
Confederate speculation. 



CHAPTER XV 

AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 

Rocky Mount, our place of refuge, was a typical Vir- 
ginia mountain village. Even at this present time, when 
it has its railroad and telegraph, one in search of seclu- 
sion from the outside world might safely select it for his 
purpose. Month after month, year after year, roll by 
without other things to vary its monotony than the horse- 
tradings, or public speakings, or private brawls of court 
days, or an occasional religious "revival." 

But in the smmner of 1862, the excitement of war, 
and the feverish anxiety to know of its progress, and the 
unusual activity in every sort of trading, pervaded even 
that secluded locality. 

The nearest point to us reached by railroad or telegraph 
was a station named Big Lick, upon the Virginia and 
Tennessee Railroad, in the county of Roanoke. Round 
about Big Lick, whose population did not exceed thirty 
persons, the valley of the Roanoke River was, as it 
still is, a veritable land of Goshen. The adjacent farms, 
now covered by the populous city of Roanoke, were in 
a state of excellent cultivation, and counted among the 
most fertile in that beautiful valley. Hereabouts were the 
stately homes of the Tayloes, the Wattses, the Preston s, 
and many other representatives of the oldest and wealth- 
iest families of southwestern Virginia. 

When a visitor known to them arrived at Big Lick, it 
was useless, whithersoever he was bound or howsoever 



220 THE END OF AN ERA ! 

urgent his mission, to decline their generous hospitality. 
He was sure to encounter some of them at the station, i 
and no protestation availed against first accompanying 
them to their homes, and then accepting their equipages ! 
in lieu of the public conveyance for the remainder of his 
journey. 

My brother Henry, being a clergyman and non-com- 
batant, was in charge of our family in Franklin. After 
driving our horses across country and conducting our 
slaves to their new abode, I again went East for some 
household effects, and he and I, returning together to Big 
Lick, were there seized upon by some friends, detained for 
several days, and finally dispatched to our journey's end 
in the private vehicle of a Mr. Tinsley. His home stood 
near the river bank, in a handsome inclosure, surrounded 
by fields of harvested wheat, where the very heart of the 
city of Roanoke is now located. 

His adjoining neighbors, not far distant, were the 
Tayloes, whose mansion stood in a stately grove with well- 
kept lawns, at a spot where engine-shops and the houses 
of railroad men are built at present. 

The thing which imjoressed me most, upon the visit to 
these good folk, was the absence of all the males of fight- 
ing age. The Tayloes of Roanoke were prominent people, 
and in all public affairs had figured conspicuously as 
representatives of their county and their section. The i 
only members of the family at home to welcome the stran- 
ger within their gates were the aged, white-haired head 
of the house and four or five daughters and daughters- 
in-law, clad in mourning. AVe were received with fault- ' 
less courtesy, and entertained with exquisite hospitality. 

Tremulously and anxiously the fine old gentleman, with 
his female brood about liim, asked for the latest news 
from the front. Eagerly they plied us with new questions 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 221 

concerning the progress and prospects of the struggle. 
Insatiable and unabated seemed their desire to talk on 
and on concerning that bloody phalanx aligned about 
Richmond, whence we came. 

And well might their deepest interest be centred there, 
for every arms-bearing Tayloe — son, brother, husband 
— was in the forefront of the fight, save one. He had 
already fallen ; his portrait hung in the spacious drawing- 
room beside the others. His name was sjioken and 
spoken again with gentle tears, and with that reverence 
which the devout render to the Christian martyr. 

In this spacious, peace-embowered home, nestled close 
to the river, under the looming Mill Mountain, whose 
afternoon shadows were already creeping across the lawn 
of oaks and elms, and maples and hickories, with the 
summer breezes stealing around its white pillars and 
through its wide hallways and swaying its muslin cur- 
tains, with naught but gently murmured conversation to 
break the delicious quietude, how far away seemed the 
war! how startling was the contrast with the seething 
cauldron of strife in which their strong men struggled 
about Richmond ! 

Yet which were suffering the most ? Who shall mea- 
sure the agony which racked those hearts, outwardly so 
placid, during the long years they waited while the strife 
went on ? 

Who can picture the desolating sorrow which engulfed 
them as, one by one, the strong arms on which that house- 
hold depended fell helpless, and the news came home 
that the brave hearts for whose safety they prayed had 
ceased to beat ! for it was so. The war filled grave after 
grave in the graveyard of the Tayloe family, until, when 
it ended, the male line was almost extinct. 

Our visit to these good folk was charming, and from 



222 THE END OF AN ERA 

time to time, when wearied of our mountain isolation, we 
would return to their lovely valley to mingle anew with 
sueh congenial friends. 

To the east and south of them was the Blue Ridge, 
and beyond it our home. From the railroad station the 
stage road ran for a mile or two through the valley, 
then crossed the Roanoke River by a ford at the base 
of the mountains, then plunged into the rugged range. 
Winding up hill and down vale it went on, through pass 
and gorge and over tumbling mountain-stream, until it 
emerged into the rough foot-hill country east of the Blue 
Ridge, in which was our new home. 

Twenty-eight miles of travel over such a route seems 
much more than the measured distance, and carried us 
indeed into a new class of population, as distinct from 
that which we left l^ehind as if an ocean instead of 
a mountain rang(i had separated the two communities. 
Soon the broad pastures and fields of grain had disap- 
peared. In their place were rough, hillside lots, with 
patches of buckwheat or tobacco. Instead of the stately 
hrick houses standing in groves on handsome knolls, all 
that we saw of human habitations were log-houses far 
apart upon the mountain sides, or in the hollows far 
})elow us. No longer were pastures visible, with well-bred 
cattle standing in j)ooly placies, shaded by sugar maples, 
Lathing their Hanks at noontide. No more did we meet 
smart equipages drawn Ijy blooded horses. No more the 
happy darkey greeted us with smiles. 

Up, up, up, — until the mountain side fell far below 
our track ; down, down, down, — until our wheels ground 
into, and our horses scattered about their feet, the broken 
slate of a roaring stream. Now, following the sycamores 
along its banks, with here a patch of arable land and its 
mountain cal>in, whence a woman smoking a pipe, and 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 223 

inuuinerable tow-headed children hanging about her 
skirts, eyed us sileutly ; and there another roadside cabin, 
with hollyhocks and sunflowers and bee-hives in the yard, 
the sound of a spinning-wheel from within, a sleeping cat 
in the window, and a cur dog on the doorstep ; here a 
carry-log, with patient team dra\\Ti aside upon the narrow 
road to let us pass, the strapping teamster in his shirt- 
sleeves, with trousers stuck into his cowhide boots, leaning 
against his load so intent in scrutiny of us that he barely 
noticed our salutation ; here a bearded man, clad in home- 
spun and a broad slouched hat, riding leisurely along on 
j his broad-backed, quiet horse, carrying the inevitable 
saddle-bags of the mountaineer ; here a woman on horse- 
back, with long sunbonnot, and coarse, cotton riding-skirt, 
and bag slung at the saddle-bow, and small boy, "with 
dangling bare feet, riding behind her : here a spout-spring 
by the roadside, where the living water of the mountain 
; side leaped joyously from a hollow gum-tree log grown 
green in service ; now mounting upward again until all 
' that is visible is the winding road, with the blue sky 
I above it, and the massed tree-tops below, and the curling 
' smoke of some mountain distillery, with nothing to break 
the stillness but the heavy hammering of the log-cock 
jiipon some dead limb, or the drumming of the ruffed 
i grouse far awa}-. So, on and on wo toiled, until we 
' reached the open country beyond the mountains, and late 
in the evening our steaming horses drew up at our new 
1 home, which was strange and different from any we had 
'1 over had before. 

Our house was large, among the newest and most 
modern in the village, juvttily located on the outskirts, 
on the highest knoll in the place, and commanded a tine 
view of the little valley and Bald Knob, and the niomi- 
tains throuq-h which we came. The stase roail. after 



224 THE END OF AN ERA 

passing our house, entered the main street of the village, 
which was a rocky lane upon a sharp decline, with stores 
and houses scattered on either side, terminating at an 
inclosui-e where stood the court house, clerk's office, and 
county jail. Halfway down this street was the tavern, , 
an antiquated structure, with a porch extending along its , 
entire front, its brick pillars supporting a second story 
overhanging the porch. This porch, which was almost 
on a level with the street, was provided with an ample j 
supply of benches and cane-bottom chairs. At one end^ 
of it, suspended in a frame, was the tavern bell, whose, 
almost continual clang was signal for grooms to take or 
fetch horses, or summons to meals. 

The tavern porch was the rallying-point of the town : 
hither all news came ; here all news was discussed ; hence 
all news was disseminated. From this spot the daily stage , 
departed in the morning. Here villagers and country, 
folk assembled in the day and waited in the evening 
and to this spot came the stage in the evening, bearing, 
the mail, the war news, and such citizens as had been 
absent, visitors who drifted in, or soldiers returning sick, 
wounded, or on furlough. 

Supreme interest centred ever about the arrival or, 
departure of the stage. In the foggy morning it a]>- 
peared with its strong four-in-hand team, and took its 
place majestically in front of the old tavern. The porters 
rocked it as they dumped the baggage into the boot ; 
the red-faced driver came forth from the breakfast-room 
with great self-importance. With his broad palm he 
wiped away the greasy remnants of his meal, lit his brier- 
root pipe, drew on his buckskin gloves, settled his slouched 
hat over his eyes, clambered to his seat upon the box, 
gathered his reins and whip, and cast a glance towards the 
post-office across the way ; an aged man and a meek- 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 225 

eyed woman in simple garb slipped quietly into the rear 
seats, going perhaps on some sad mission under summons 
to a far-off hospital at the front ; a dainty miss, with bon- 
net-box and bunch of flowers, kissed papa and mamma 
and took her place within, fidl of joyous anticipation, 
doubtless, for even in war times girls love to visit each 
other; a fat commissary, returning from his search in 
the back country for supplies, came forth, reeking with 
rum and tobacco, and swung up awkwardly to the seat 
beside the driver. Tom, Dick, and Harry, the new 
recruits bound for the front, proud in their new and 
misfit uniforms, seized mother, wife, sister, or sweetheart 
in their arms, kissed them, bade them have no fear, and 
scrambled lightly to the top. The lame and tardy post- 
master hobbled forth at last, and threw his mail-pouch up 
to the dashboard. The coachman gave his warning cry 
of " All aboard," the hostlers drew off the blankets, the 
long whip cracked its merry signal ; with discord in each 
footfall at the start and concord as they caught the step, 
the horses pulled away ; and the lumbering stage went 
grinding up the stony street, its horn singing its morning 
carol to those who were awake. As they disappeared 
over the hill-top, a last merry cry of parting came back 
from the bright boys on the stage-top, and the last they 

i1 saw of home was the waving tokens of love from those 
they left behind. 

As the day advanced, the tavern porch again took on 

', an air of life, 

i Everybody traveled upon horseback. By midday, the. 

I country folk began to stream in. Up and down the street 

R a gradually increasing line of saddle-horses were "hitched." 

[■] Women, old and young, arrived, — all of conventional 

dress, and with horses singularly alike. Their bonnets 

\ were the long-slatted poke-bonnet ; their riding-skirts, of 



226 THE END OF AN ERA 

coarse cotton. Alighting at the horse-blocks, they untied 
and slipped off the skirts and tied them to their saddle- 
bows, revealing their plain homespun dress. Their horses 
were broad-backed, short on the leg, carried their heads 
on a level with their shoulders, and moved with noses 
advanced like camels. They had no gaits but a swift 
walk, a gentle fox-trot, or a slow, ambling pace. When 
they had " hitched the critturs," these women went pok- 
ing about the stores, or the tavern kitchen, or the private 
houses, with chickens or butter, or other farmyard pro- 
duce, seldom speaking further than asking one to buy ; 
and when their sales were effected and little purchases 
made, they went away as silently as they had come. 

The men came by themselves. Their principal occupa- 
tion seemed to be horse-trading. At times, the neighbor- 
ing stables, and even the street itself, were filled with men 
leading their animals about, and engaged in the liveliest 
of horse-trading. A considerable proportion of the popu- 
lation belonged to a religious sect known as Dunkards. 
In appearance, they were solemn and ascetic. The men 
wore long, flowing beards, and their homespun dress was 
of formal cut. Their doctrinal tenets were opposed to 
slavery and to war. Whenever political or military dis- 
cussions arose, they promptly withdrew. They were very 
strict temperance men, and decent, orderly, law-abiding 
citizens, but horse-traders ! It must have been a part of 
their religious faith. A Dunkard was never so happy as 
when he was horse-trading. 

There were others, too, to whom temperance was not 
so sacred as to the Dunkards. By three or four o'clock, 
the tavern bar was liberally patronized. The recruiting- 
office had its full quota of young fellows inquiring about 
the terms of enlistment. The tavern porch was filled 
with people discussing war news, and the quartermaster 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 227 

down the street had more horses offered to him than he 
was authorized to buy. 

At such times, a favorite entertainment was to draw 
General Early out upon his views of men and events, for 
the edification of the tavern-})orch assemblage. 

He was a resident of Franklin, and at that time sojourn- 
ing- at the tavern. He had been severely wounded in the 
battle of Williamsburg in May, 18G2, and was now quite 
convalescent, but still on sick leave. He was a singular 
being. 

Franklin County had been strongly opposed to seces- 
sion. Jubal A. Early was a pronounced Union man, and 
was elected from his county as her representative to the 
Secession Convention. In that body he had opposed and 
denounced secession until the ordinance was passed. As 
soon as the State seceded, he declared that his State was 
entitled to his services, and tendered them. He was a 
man of good family, a graduate of the West Point Mili- 
tary Academy, and possessed unsurpassed personal cour- 
age. In 1862, he was a brigadier-general, and had been 
conspicuously brave in the battle in which he was wounded. 
His subsequent career in higher commands was disastrous. 
After the war, he became notorious as the most implaca- 
ble and " unreconstructed " of all the Confederate gen- 
erals. He was a man deeply attached to a small circle of 
friends, but intensely vindictive and abusive of those he 
disliked. 

At the time of which I write, he was the hero of Frank- 
lin County, and, although he professed to despise popular- 
ity and to be defiant of public opinion, it was plain that 
he enjoyed his military distinction. It had done much to 
soften old-time asperities, and blot out from the memory 
of his neighbors certain facts in his private life which had, 
prior to the war, alienated from him many of his own 



228 THE END OF AN ERA 

class. In fact, I doubt not he was a happier man then 
than he had been for many a year before, or was at a later 
period, when he became more or less a social and political 
Ishmaelite. 

He was eccentric in many ways, — eccentric in appear- 
ance, in voice, in manner of speech. Although he was not 
an old man, his shoulders were so stooped and rounded 
that he brought his countenance to a vertical position 
with difficulty. He wore a long, thin, straggling beard. 
His eyes were very small, dark, deep-set, and glittering, 
and his nose aquiline. His step was slow, shuffling, and 
almost irresolute. I never saw a man who looked less 
like a soldier. His voice was a piping treble, and he 
talked with a long-drawn whine or drawl. His opinions 
were expressed unreservedly, and he was most emphatic 
and denunciatory, and startlingiy profane. 

His likes and dislikes he announced without hesitation, 
and, as he was filled with strong and bitter opinions, his 
conversation was always racy and pungent. His views 
were not always correct, or just, or broad ; but his wit was 
quick, his satire biting, his expressions were vigorous, and 
he was interestingly lurid and picturesque. 

With his admiring throng about him on the tavern 
porch, on summer evenings in 1862, General Early, in 
my opinion, said things about his superiors, the Confed- 
erate leaders, civic and military, and their conduct of 
affairs, sufficient to have convicted him a hundred times 
over before any court-martial. But his criticisms never 
extended to General Robert E. Lee. For Lee he seemed 
to have a regard and esteem and higli opinion felt by him 
for no one else. Although General Lee had but recently 
been called to the command of the army, he predicted his 
gi'eat future with unerring judgment. 

The arrival of the stage not infrequently interrupted 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 229 

General Early's vigorous lectures. For half an hour or 
more before the event, the expectant throng would in- 
crease, and, as those who " brace " themselves for the 
crisis were there, as everywhere else, conversation grew 
louder and agitation greater as the time approached. 
Then the stage would heave in sight in the gloaming, and 
come rattling down the rough street, the horseshoes knock- 
ing fix-e from the flints. Before the smoking and jaded 
beasts had fairly stopped, loud inquiries would be made 
on all hands, of driver and passengers, for war news. 
Somebody would throw down the latest newspaper ; some- 
body would mount a chair and read aloud ; and, just as 
the news was encouraging or depressing, there would be 
cheering or silence. Then would come the rush for the 
mail to the post-office across the way. 

The passengers, also, were a source of engrossing inter- 
est. There was young So-and-so, with his empty sleeve. 
A year ago he had left the place, and passed safely 
through all the earlier battles ; but at Malvern Hill a 
grapeshot mutilated his left arm. Amputation followed, 
and now, after a long time in hospital, here he was, home 
again, pale and bleached, with an honorable discharge in 
his pocket, and maimed for life. And there, collapsed 
upon the rear seat, more dead than alive, too weak to 
move save with the assistance of friends, was a poor, wan 
fellow, whom nobody knew at first. How pitiful he 
seemed, as they helped him forth, his eyes sunken yet 
restless, his weak arms clinging about their necks, his 
limbs scarce able to support his weight, his frame racked 
by paroxysms of violent coughing I " Who is it ? " passed 
from mouth to mouth. " Good God ! " exclaimed some 
one at the whispered reply, " it can't be ! That is not 
Jimmie Thomson. What I Not old man Hugh Thom- 
son's son, down on Pig River ? Why, man alive, I knew 



230 THE END OF AN ERA 

the boy well. He was one of the likeliest boys in this 
whole county. Surely, that ar skeleton can't be him ! " 
But it was. The exposure of camp life had done for poor 
Jimmie what bullets had failed to do. 

There, perched gayly in air, and tumbling down upon 
the heads of the bystanders with joyous greeting, was the 
sauciest, healthiest youngster in the village, come home 
on his first furlough in a twelvemonth, wearing on his 
collar the bars of a lieutenant (conferred for gallantry at 
Seven Pines), in place of the corporal's chevrons on his 
sleeve when he marched away. Camp life had made no 
inroads on his health. The sun and rain had only given 
him a healthy bronze. His digestion would have assimi- 
lated paving-stones. The bullets had gone wide of him. 
And his little world, the dearest on earth to him, — the 
little world which had laughed and cried over the stories 
of his capers and his coui'age in the field, — stood there 
surprised and delighted, with smiling faces and oj)en arms, 
to welcome him home, their own village boy, their saucy, 
gallant fighting-chap, their hero, — home again, if only 
for a week ! 

Each day opened and passed and closed, with its excite- 
ments. It was all very narrow and primitive, the out- 
of-the-way world of the obscure village in an unknown 
region. Yet in it were the same old hopes and fears and 
joys and tears, hearteases and heartaches, loves and hates, 
and all the moods and tenses of human nature, to be found 
in the most populous and cosmopolitan hives of humanity. 

I was now nearly sixteen. Many youths of my age 
were in the army. I had written more than once for my 
father's consent to enlist, but received stern denials. The 
war talk at the old tavern, the stories of cam]is and fights 
and military glory, the daily enlistments, the desire to 
appear a man in the eyes of certain girls, were all cooper- 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 231 

ating to inflame my desire to be a soldier. I was growing 
mannish and rebellious. My brother saw it all, and heard 
me threaten to run away, and wrote father seriously, 
advising him that I was getting beyond his control, and 
urging him to send me to the Virginia Military Institute, 
where I would be under restraint, and receive instruction, 
instead of growing up in ignorance and idleness. 

It was soon settled. September 1, 1862, I left Eocky 
Mount, took the train at Big Lick, went to the neighbor- 
ing station of Bonsacks, and there perched myself upon 
the stage-top, booked for Lexington. It was a long jour- 
ney, occupying sixteen hours. We started at six p. M., 
and, riding continuously, reached Lexington at ten o'clock 
the following morning. It was a glorious ride in brilliant 
autumn weather, with moonlight. We passed through 
Fincastle and Buchanan, and over the Natural Bridge. 

As we approached Lexington, and I caught sight of 
the Virginia Military Institute and its beautiful parade 
grounds, and professors' houses and other buildings, my 
mind was filled with thoughts of glorious military life, 
and the commission in the army which awaited me when 
I graduated, for I was now a cadet in the West Point of 
the Confederacy. 



CHAPTER XVI 

PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 

Great differences in soil, climate, and scenery exist 
between the grand divisions into which Virginia is cut up 
geographically. But they are not more striking than the 
diversity of the jDopulations, one from the other, in these 
several sections, springing from differences in the time 
and the manner in which, and the people by whom, her 
several early settlements were made. 

Two or thi-ee centuries of common government would 
ordinarily seem sufficient to produce a homogeneous popu- 
lation in a State. While this result has been attained in 
Virginia in essentials, it is nevertheless surprising to ob- 
serve in each section local peculiarities, types, and char- 
acteristics plainly traceable to its earliest settlement. 

We were first introduced to the lower Tidewater section, 
where the soil is sandy, the climate balmy, the landscape 
flat, viewless, save as it is redeemed from monotony by 
the boundless, ever-changing grandeur of old Ocean. The 
people, while of her oldest strains, are simple in their 
mode of living, and admit neither lineage nor wealth as 
basis for any caste or class distinction. Then we turned 
to the region of the upper and lower James, with Rich- 
mond as its centre, settled later than Tidewater by the 
so-called Cavalier immigration of 1649-60. There, of old, 
social relations were akin to those of Rome's patricians 
and plebeians, patrons and clients. Not alone was the 
haughty descendant of Charles I. owner of a plantation 



PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 233 

and of slaves, — he was more : the poor whites and the 
shopkeejiers of country and town alike, consciously or 
unconsciously, willingly or unwillingly, rendered him 
homage as if he wei*e their superior. And he, while often 
proclaiming principles of social equality, seldom prac- 
ticed them, and quietly accepted, as his legitimate due, 
the preeminence granted him by his humbler neighbors. 

Then, with a mere glimpse of the Koanoke region, we 
passed into the rocky soil, the wild and mountainous 
landscape, and the rough, new, and nondescript popula- 
tion which, from one direction and another, has collected 
upon and taken possession of the eastern slope of the 
Blue Ridge range. Here, again, we found a democracy 
full of independence and courage, but in all things of 
education and refinement, far inferior to that in Tide- 
water. 

Now, at Lexington, we are in the heart of the valley 
lying between the Blue Ridge and Alleghany ranges. It 
is a region with a different soil, a different climate, differ- 
ent scenery, and a jjopulation more distinctly sni generis 
than any yet described. The soil is based upon blue 
limestone. It is where the grasses grow. The lands lie 
tumbled into knobby hills and rolling fields, with here and 
there narrow fertile valleys traversed by limpid streams, 
whose banks are cedar-clad bluffs of limestone shale. 
The great valley is more bi'oken here, less pastoral, and 
not so charming as in its lower section to the north, where 
it widens, and is watered by the Shenandoah ; but this is 
the bolder landscape, with a rugged beauty peculiar to 
itself. The mountain framing of the picture is the same ; 
but the land is higher, for, as the cloud-capped peaks of 
the Blue Ridge and Alleghany ranges draw nearer to 
each other, the vale between them is nearer to their own 
altitude. We are in Rockbridge County, so called be- 



234 THE END OF AN ERA 

cause within its limits is the superb natural arch of lime- 
stone known the world over as the Natural Bridge. 

Lexington, the county seat of Kockbridge, is near the 
summit of the transverse watershed of the great valley. 
Within a few miles of the town, streams rise, some pour- 
ing their waters southward into the tributaries of the 
James, and others coursing northward, tributary to the 
Shenandoah, which enters the Potomac at Harper's Ferry. 
The place itself is beautiful. Looking east and south, 
the rolling country falls away to the base of the Blue 
Ridge, where the South Kiver and North River unite and 
flow onward to join the James, where their united waters 
turn eastward through the pass at Balcony Falls. The 
magnificent Blue Ridge range bounds the eastern view, 
and is last seen to southward, where the twin breasts of 
the Peaks of Otter rear themselves against the distant 
blue. Northward, beyond the wooded bluffs of the North 
River, steep hills of farming lands are tilted towards us, 
their sides dotted with cattle, their summits crowned with 
forests. Beyond these, crest after crest of the smaller 
foothills of the Alleghanies appear. To the northwest, 
looming in isolated majesty, is the House Mountain, with 
the peak of the Devil's Backbone behind it, marking the 
route through historic Goshen Pass. North and south, as 
far as the eye can reach, sliading away in their tints from 
deep emerald to dreamy blue as they become more and 
more remote, are masses of hills. To the west and south- 
west, now strongly outlined, now melting into the last visi- 
ble things of the distance, are the azure peaks of the 
Alleghanies. Such is the country about Lexington, where 
Virginia has her Military Institute. It is a spot almost 
as beautiful as West Point, and the school is second only 
to the Military Academy in thoroughness. It is an ideal 
spot for healthfulness, and the isolation of youth from the 



PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 235 

temptations and distracting influences of crowded com- 
munities. The boy who finds allurement to idleness and 
vice in that town would discover it anywhere. 

It is a community of Scotch- Irish Presbyterians. For 
more than a hundred years after the settlement of James- 
town, and for over fifty years after Richmond was an 
incorporated city, this valley remained unviewed by the 
eye of any white man. 

As early as 1608, Newport, on his second visit to the 
Virginia colony, brought with him a boat built in sec- 
tions, to be transjiorted by him under orders to find the 
South Sea beyond the mountains. The extent to which 
he performed that order was that he marched to the Mona- 
con country, about twenty miles west of Richmond, and 
his company returned footsore to Jamestown. 

One hundred and two years later (1710), Governor 
Spotswood wrote to the Council of Trade in London that a 
party of adventurers had found the mountains " not above 
a hundred miles from our upper settlements, and went up 
to the top of the highest mountains with their horses," 
and looked over into the valley. This is supposed to have 
been near Balcony Falls. It was not until 1716 that the 
first passage of the Blue Ridge was effected. Then Gov- 
ernor Spotswood and his " Knights of the Golden Horse- 
shoe " entered the lower or Shenandoah vaUey by way of 
Swift Run Gap, and took possession in the name of George 
the First. Governor Spotswood's expedition resulted in 
nothing important. The only diary of its performance 
extant is principally devoted to description of the liquors 
which the party carried with it, whereof eleven sorts are 
enumerated. A few adventurers may have straggled into 
the valley after this, but it was not until 1732-36 that it 
was settled by any considerable population. 

Shortly prior to 1732, an immense number of Scotch- 



236 THE END OF AN ERA 

Irish and Germans poured into Pennsylvania and the Jer- 
seys. Within thirty years, the population of Pennsylvania 
increased from about thirty thousand to two hundi-ed and 
fifty thousand. The Scotsmen, who, for religious liberty, 
had originally sought the north of Ireland, were the peo- 
23le who saved Ireland to William and Mary from Cath- 
olic James. Their loyalty was rewarded by new persecu- 
tions for non-conformity, until they resolved to seek asylum 
in America. So, also, about the same time came to Amer- 
ica a great migration of German Lutherans, who were 
induced to settle in Pennsylvania. The Scotsmen occujjied 
the regions about Princeton, New Jersey, Eastou, Car- 
lisle, and Washington. The Germans settled about York, 
Lancaster, Columbia, and Harrisburg. Governor Logan, 
himself a Scotch-Irishman, enforced some laws about 1730 
which were so offensive to the Presbyterians and Lutherans 
that great numbers of them left the Pennsylvania colony, 
crossed the Potomac west of the Blue Ridge, in the vicin- 
ity of Harper's Ferry, entered Virginia, and settled the 
Blue Ridge valley. 

As if by agreement, the two bands separated. The 
lethargic Germans, as soon as they escaped the Pennsyl- 
vania jurisdiction, occupied the lower valley from Har- 
per's Ferry to Harrisonburg. The aggressive Scotch- 
Irish pressed on to the upper valley, then called West 
Augusta, now divided into the counties of Augusta, 
Rockbridge, Botetourt, Roanoke, and Montgomery. From 
then until now, the two races have retained possession of 
and dominated their respective settlements. 

And a very striking race of men are these Scotch-Irish, 
so called, yet with nothing Irish about them save that 
for a little while they tarried in Ireland. Hated by the 
Irish because they were Protestants, persecuted by the 
English because they were Presbyterians, they in turn 



PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 237 

cordially detested both, and, in our Revolutionary strug- 
gles, were among the earliest and most intense rebels 
against the king. For liberty, as they conceived it, 
whether it was liberty of conscience or liberty of the 
person, the Scotch-Irishmen and their descendants have 
never hesitated to sacrifice comfort, fortune, or life. 
Their mountain origin has always manifested itself by 
the places they have chosen in their migrations. The 
few who went to the Puritan settlements of New England 
soon moved from among them and sought the inhospit- 
able highlands of New Hampshire, where they bestowed 
on their new settlement the name of Londonderry. The 
little band who found asylum among the Dutch of New 
York pressed onward from uncongenial associates to the 
mountainous frontier, and named the county where they 
settled Ulster, in memory of their Irish home. Those 
who wearied of Pennsylvania and went to Virginia 
avoided the light society of the Cavaliers in Tidewater 
and Piedmont, preferring the mountain wilds of West 
Augusta. 

Wherever they appeared, they seemed to be seeking for 
some secluded spot, where, undisturbed by any other. sect, 
they might enjoy liberty unrestrained, and worship God 
after their own fashion. 

And great have they been as pioneers. They popu- 
lated western New England, northern New York, west- 
ern Pennsylvania, and the Virginia valley. Then they 
pressed onward through western North Carolina, even to 
northern South Carolina. Then they spread westward 
through Cumberland Gap to the settlement of Kentucky. 
In later days, their Lewis and their Clarke were the 
explorers of the Northwest ; another Lewis was the first 
to view Pike's Peak ; and even the territory of Texas 
was in part reclaimed by Sam Houston, son of a Eock- 



238 THE END OF AN ERA 

bridge County Presbyterian. The pioneer work of the 
Scotch- Irish has been greater than that of all other races 
in America combined. 

Great also have they been as fighters. John Lewis, 
their first leader in the Virginia valley, was the terror of 
the frontier Indians from the day of his arrival. Never 
after his coming did the Indians come east of the Blue 
Kidge. Another Scotch-Irishman, Patrick Henry, uttered 
the immortal sentence, " Give me liberty or give me 
death." 

General Henry Knox, of Revolutionary fame, the only 
New England representative in Washington's cabinet, 
was a Scotch-Irishman. 

It was the Scotch-Irish of Mecklenburg, North Caro- 
lina, who framed the first resolutions embodying the prin- 
ciples of the Declaration of Independence. It was of the 
Scotch-Irish and their valley home that Washington was 
speaking when, in the darkest hours of the Revolution, he 
declared that, if the worst came to the worst, he would 
retire to the mountain fastnesses of West Augusta, and 
there, with a few of his brave followers about him, defy 
forever the power of Great Britain. It was from the 
same spot that Stonewall Jackson, another of the stock, 
went forth in our great civil war, followed by his brave 
men of Scotch-Irish ancestry recruited here, to revive, by 
his grim prowess and their unshaken valor, the memory of 
Old Ironsides and his Presbyterians. 

And great have they been as disseminators of learning. 
They founded the ancient college of New Jersey now 
known as Princeton University. To their efforts are we 
indebted for the colleges of La Fayette at Easton and 
Washington- Jefferson College at Washington in Pennsyl- 
vania ; and Liberty Hall Academy, now called Washing- 
ton and Lee University, at Lexington, Virginia ; and 
Chapel Hill in North Carolina. 



PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 239 

And successful politicians and statesmen have they 
been ; for Calhoun, Andrew Jackson, Franklin Pierce, 
James Buchanan, Ulysses S. Grant, Chester A. Arthur, 
Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, and William 
McKinley were all rich in this Scotch-Irish blood. 

In his great work upon the Puritans, Douglass Camp- 
bell has admirably sketched the Scotch-Irish. Much has 
been written of them of late years by writers less distin- 
guished ; and just now Professor John Fiske, under the 
title of " Old Virginia and her Neighbors," has published 
a most interesting account of the great Scotch-Irish migra- 
tion and its influences on our American civilization. 

At Lexington, Virginia, these folk were and are, as 
their ancestors have been for centuries, men of earnest, 
thoughtful, and religious natures ; simple in their lives 
to the point of severity, sometimes severe to the point of 
simplicity ; intense in their religious fervor, yet strangely 
lacking, as it seems to us, in that quality of mercy which \/ 
is the greatest attribute of religion; loving and possess- 
ing education, yet often narrow-minded, in spite of thor- 
ough training ; almost ascetics in their wants, not bounti- 
fully hospitable, but reasonably courteous and considerate 
towards strangers, and methodically charitable ; regard- 
ing revelry and dissipation of body or mind as worthy of 
supreme contempt ; of dogged obstinacy, pertinacity, and 
courage ; dominant forces in all things wherein they take 
a part. 

I had heard of their race, and heard them described, 
long before I went there ; and now I was among them, — 
those old McDowells, and McLaughlins, and McClungs, 
and Jackson s, and Paxtons, and Rosses, and Grahams, 
and Andersons, and Campbells, and Prestons, and Moores, 
and Houstons, and Barclays, and Comptons, and all the 
tribe of Presbyterians of the valley. All they possessed, 



240 THE END OF AN ERA 

and what they were, I curiously scrutinized as a type of 
humanity wholly new to me. 

Their impress was upon everything in the place. The 
blue limestone streets looked hard. The red brick houses, 
with severe stone trimmings and plain white pillars and 
finishings, were stiff and formal. The grim portals of 
the Presbyterian church looked cold as a dog's nose. The 
cedar hedges in the yards, trimmed hard and close along 
straight brick pathways, were as unsentimental as mathe- 
matics. The dress of the citizens, male and female, was 
of single-breasted simplicity ; and the hair of those pretty 
Presbyterian girls was among the smoothest and the flat- 
test things I ever saw. 

Shall I describe their habitations ? Would it violate 
the laws of hospitality to do so ? I hope not. We have 
entered a hallway, tinted gray, furnished with an oaken 
hat-rack and straight oak chair of Gothic features, and 
passed into a parlor. Although it is autumn, the polished 
floors are uncovered save by strips of deep-red carpet, 
such as one sees in chapel aisles. There is a fireplace, 
but the fires are unlit. The fui'niture is straight up and 
down mahogany covered over with haircloth. I have 
often wondered what a Presbyterian would do if he could 
not secure mahogany haircloth furniture for his drawing- 
room. The room is dark ; the red curtains are half drawn. 
Upon the black marble mantelpiece, under a glass shade, 
are cold, white wax flowers. On the walls are solemn 
engravings of Oliver Cromwell, Stonewall Jackson, and 
The Rock of Ages. A melodeon, with church music, 
stands in the corner. If, perchance, it be a pianoforte, 
it seems like a profanation. There is also a Gothic table, 
on top of which is the family Bible, beside it a candle- 
stick. Jay's " Morning Exercises," and the " Life of 
Hannah More." Drawn near to these is a long-armed, 



PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 241 

low easy-chair. Facing the fireplace are two rocking- 
chairs, and six others, all in haircloth, stand stiff as horse- 
guards' sentries about the walls. 

If your call is timed in the evening, you will learn the 
uses to which these articles are put, for, as nine o'clock 
approaches, the sweet little Presbyterian girl you are vis- 
iting will begin to fidget ; and when the hour strikes, the 
family will file into the room with military silence and 
precision. Before you know it, the head of the house wiU 
occupy that chair by the table, and open that Bible, and 
give you the benefit of at least twenty minutes of Chris- 
tian comfort. Then, if you have not the good sense to 
leave, he will proceed to fasten the window-blinds. 

If your visit is in the daytime, other things will sug- 
gest themselves to your mind. For example, you wiU 
wonder what is the family dinner-hour. If you are so 
fortunate as to receive a formal invitation in advance, you 
will not only learn, but you will have a bountiful and well- 
ccoked meal, — not, perhaps, an Episcopalian epicurean 
feast, but bountiful and nutritious food. If, however, 
your notion was to drop in unexpectedly, and take an in- 
formal family dinner, let me beg you to give it up. You 
may go a hundred times, and the sleek-headed girl in pop- 
lin will give no sign, and the bell will never ring. She 
would starve before she would ask you out, but she would 
die before she would ask you in, for Presbyterians are not 
built that way. Her father would immolate her for tak- 
ing such a liberty. The best you can hope for, on an occa- 
sion like that, is a cold red pippin on a cold white plate, 
served where you sit shivering, in that vault-like jjarlor. 

If you wish to be frisky with Miss Westminster, it is 
possible in but one way. Ask her to go to church. Sun- 
day morning church is the most tumultuous of her gaye- 
ties; Sunday night service is to her what an ordinary 



242 THE END OF AN ERA 

dancing party would be, as compared with a state ball, 
to Miss Litany ; and Wednesday evening lectures are to 
her what excursions for ice-cream or soda-water are to 
" unregenerate " girls. 

My ! for wild hilarity commend me to a coterie of 
strictly reared young female Presbyterians. An evening 
spent among them is like sitting upon icebergs, cracking 
hailstones with one's teeth. 

Yet, dear reader, believe me, after one has tried it 
awhile, surprising as the statement may seem, one comes 
to like it. Now and again, one of them says something, 
or does something, like ordinary mortals ; and what she 
says or does is in such a fetching, fascinating, feminine 
way that it makes one want to go again, and makes one 
feel glad that such gentle, pure, refined, simple, and true 
people countenance an outside barbarian like one's self 
in their society. 

There is, believe me, a lot of outcome in one of these 
little, demure Presbyterian lassies. Of course, if she has 
no better luck than to marry one of her own people, that 
settles it ! She will go through life mooning and min- 
cing about, like a turkey hen come off her nest. She 
will jjass her life thinking that going to hear sermons 
and lectures is the chief end of man, and that pippins, 
spiced gingerbread, and cracked walnuts, served in a 
chilly parlor, are fit Christian entertainments. 

She may even live and die thinking she is happy, not 
knowing any better. 

But if, perchance, good fortune brings her a knight 
with a feather in his bonnet, and it catches her little meek 
eye, as it is mighty apt to do ; if, after prayerful consid- 
eration, her strait-laced parents decide that it is best for 
her happiness to let her go, even at her soul's peril ; if, 
all doubts and dangers past, she is borne triumphantly 



PRESBYTERIAN LEXINGTON 243 

away, her bonnet-box stuffed with the Shorter Catechism 
and all orthodox kirk rudiments, — I assure you it is 
surprising how promptly the little bud expands, and how 
quickly she adapts herself to new surroundings. 

I speak whereof I know. 

How long we have been in Lexington without reporting 
for duty ! 



CHAPTER XVII 

A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 

Looking eastward from the front of the tavern where 
the stage-coach deposited us, the barracks, mess-hall, pro- 
fessors' houses, parade ground, and limits of the Virginia 
Military Institute were in view upon a hill about half, a 
mile distant. 

My first care was to send a messenger with a note 
announcing my arrival to my cousin Louis, who had pre- 
ceded me at the Institute by a year. When he came, 
he explained that his tardiness was due to the length of 
time it required for an application for permission to leave 
the limits of the Institute to pass through the necessary 
official channels. 

His greeting was hearty and joyous; it had been a 
long time since he had seen any relative from the outside 
world, and this little release was quite a lark. How well 
and bright-eyed he looked in his tight-fitting shell jacket ! 
When we parted at Norfolk a year before, he was an 
easy-going, slack-twisted little civihan, without particu- 
larly attractive dress or bearing. Now, he carried him- 
self like a fighting-cock. P^xercise had hardened him 
and developed his figure, his clothing fitted him like a 
glove, and there was an easy confidence in his manner. 
In a word, he had been licked into military shape. 

We sallied forth together to report for duty at the 
ofifice of the superintendent, General Francis H. Smith. 
His study was a very attractive place : it was a hexagonal 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 245 

room, well lit; bookcases stood about the walls, and it 
was ornamented with a number of striking military pic- 
tures, chiefly French ; a bright wood-fire crackled in the 
open fireplace. In a former chapter I alluded to General 
Smith. lie had, at the time about which I write, been 
su])erintendent twenty-three years, although he was then 
only about fifty. 

Your elderly soldier is generally of one of two types : 
one is the rubicund, thunderous type ; the other, the lean, 
pale, spectacled, quiet type. There are modifications and 
variations of these two generic classifications, of course : 
but under one or the other the great mass of elderly 
soldiers may be grouped. 

To the latter belonged General Smith. He was tall, 
thin, agile ; in youth he had been an extreme blonde ; 
his lithe figure still bore a soldierly aspect. His face was 
that of a student, with that expression emphasized by the 
gold spectacles through which he looked keenly ; those 
spectacles were so much a part of him that he was uni- 
versally known as " Old Spex." As he sat in his office 
in his blue uniform, with one leg crossed over the other, 
many a cadet has no doubt wondered how thin those long 
legs really were, seeing how close they lay together. His 
life had been given up entirely to his work as superin- 
tendent ; he had traveled abroad to study foreign schools 
and secure their best features ; he was author of several 
mathematical treatises, as well as a most admirable 
teacher. A prominent churchman ; a man of abstemious 
habits and boundless industry ; one of the best politicians 
in the State, — he knew every man of importance in Vir- 
ginia, and had the faculty of enlisting the interest of 
politicians of all parties in the success of the Virginia 
Military Institute. No matter what might be the acrimony 
of factions, or the stress of public necessities in other 



246 THE END OF AN ERA 

directions, his legislative appropriations never failed, and 
support of his school never flagged. His tact in man- 
agement and insight into tlie character of cadets was 
marvelous. His acquaintance with the minutest details 
of every department in the school was ])erfect, and the 
personal interest which he manifested in every cadet 
intrusted to his care was at once a warning and a stinui- 
lus to the boy. He was in truth a very remarkable man ; 
his peculiarities were as nuirked as his (ixcellencies ; 
and, while those peculiarities did not seriously detract 
from him, they gave him a distinct individuality. A 
monument to Colonel Thayer stands in front of the 
United States Military Acadcjmy, describing him as the 
father of the institution. One like it should be reared to 
General Smith at the Virginia Military Institute, for to 
it he was even more a father than was Thayer to West 
Point, or Arnold to llugby. 

Behind those gold s})ectacles, and with those long, 
thin legs la})ped over each other, he sat at a table writing 
as we entered and stood near the door, caps in hand, at 
attention. He seemed engrossed ; a moment latcn*, he 
lifted his eyes ; squinting a little and ])eering through his 
glasses, he caught sight of us and exclaimed, " Ah-h ! 
who 's this ? " Louis explained. " Well, young man, 
how are you ? Glad to see you. How is your father? 
What have you studied ? How far have you been in 
mathematics? In French? In Latin?" And, going 
straight at the matter in hand, he plied me with queries 
until he knew all that was necessary ; then " Fourtli-class 
is best for him," he said. 

Soon fixed u]) by the adjutant, we started for the com- 
mandant's office across the parade ground. The com- 
mandant of cadets. Major Scott Sliipp, was a large man, 
with close-trimmed black hair and beard, a solemn bear- 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 247 

ing, and a deep voice. Although he was then but twenty- 
four years of age, I thought he was forty. He remained 
commandant for nearly thirty years after this, and is now 
superintendent. In its fifty-eight years of life, the school 
has had but two superintendents. Our business with the 
commandant consisted of securing an assignment to a 
room and to a company, and attending to some minor 
details. Then we reported to my first sergeant, who was 
no other than Benjamin Colo una, our room-mate. 

Louis and I found my trunk at the sallyjiort, whither 
it had been sent from the hotel, and lugged it off to the 
arsenal, which stood in the quadrangle, for no trunks 
were allowed in rooms. Cadet clothing was kept in a 
large wardrobe, placed in each room, divided into com- 
partments which were assigned to the respective occu- 
pants. 

The cadet barracks was a handsome four-storied build- 
ing, occupying three sides of a quadrangle, with towers 
at the corners and at a sallyport with central arch. On 
the inner side were three broad stoops running all around 
the building, reached by stairways upon the stoops. The 
cadet quarters opened upon these stoops. At the turrets, 
the rooms were double, occupied in most instances by 
tactical officers ; elsewhere, the rooms were single. The 
ventilation, light, and heat of the quarters were excellent. 
The furniture of each room consisted of a gun-rack, 
washstand, wardrobe ; large oak table in the centre of the 
room, under a gas-light ; a chair for each cadet, a book 
rack and a blacking-stool, beds and bedsteads. Thirty 
minutes after reveille, the beds were required to be rolled 
up, strapped, and stood in the corner, flanked by the bed- 
steads folded. Beds could not be put down until after 
tattoo. The occupants of the room were alternately de- 
tailed as orderly for a week, and each was held responsible 



248 THE END OF AN ERA 

for observance of regulations and for the police of the 
room, which was inspected at least twice a day. 

On arrival at our rooms, I had a bluff but pleasant 
welcome from Colonna, who called me " Mr. Rat," and, as 
it was a rule of the Institute that every plebe should be 
" bucked," he and Louis j)roceeded to attend to my case. 
A bed-strap was buckled about my wrists ; I was ordered 
up on the table and compelled to draw up my knees, over 
which my bound arms were slipped ; a ramrod was run 
under my knees and over my arms, and then I was rolled 
over on ray side, and Louis and Colonna, with a bayonet 
scabbard, spelled Constantinople. The taps 
given by these laughing friends were light, but sufficiently 
stinging to make me appreciate what it might have been. 

" Now, Rat, you have been bucked," laughed Colonna, 
as they set me upright and loosened the cords. " If any- 
body asks you whether you have been ' bucked,' say, 
* Y^es, sh' ; ' be sure to say sir, d' ye understand ? Then, 
if they ask you whose Rat you are, say, ' Mr. Colonna's 
rat, sir.'' Be sure to say sir, d' ye understand ? And then 
you take care to say as little more as you can, for it 's 
these long-tongued Rats that get into trouble, d' ye under- 
stand?" Yes, I understood. I resolved to keep that 
mouth, that has gotten me in trouble all my life, shut 
tight. 

Up to now, I had been agreeably surprised. I expected 
that I should be seized upon as soon as I entered the 
barracks, but so far I had seen very few cadets about. 
I did not realize that it was study-hours, at which time 
the cadets were in their class-rooms, or confined to 
quarters, and were strictly forbidden to visit, or to loiter 
on the stoops or about the archway. 

" What is that? " I asked, as a drum was beaten in the 
area, its sounds reverberating through the barracks. 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 249 

" First drum for dinner," said Louis ; " dinner roll- 
call in five minutes," and he, Colonna, and Phillips began 
polishing their shoes. 

"Now, Mr. Rat, if you don't want to be bully- 
agged, you wait under the arch until I give the com- 
mand, ' Fall in ! ' when the clock strikes, and then run 
to your place in ranks in front of barracks. My com- 
pany is on the left ; I '11 wait, before giving the command 
' Front,' until I see you are in ranks, so you will not be 
late." 

This thoughtful advice from Colonna I obeyed strictly, 
so that nobody troubled me. I felt quite proud in ranks, 
and answered to my name clearly. The companies were 
side-stepped together, and then the first captain assumed 
charge, broke the battalion into columns of fours, and 
marched us off to the mess-hall. I had never seen a 
figure quite so trim, or heard a voice quite so clarion, as 
the first captain's. The crunching cadence of the step 
of three hundred boys upon the gravel walk would have 
made a muley cow keep step. Tramp, tramp, tramp we 
went up the broad stairway of the mess-hall, and, as we 
reached the hall, companies filed away to their respective 
seats at the eight long tables. When all were in place, 
the command " Seats " was given by the first captain, and 
in another instant, where all had been silent, it was a 
babel of voices. Colonna had his eye on me, and assigned 
me a seat ; not up with him, of course, but down at the 
foot with some other plebes. 

It was a good, hot, smoking meal, better than I ex- 
pected, and every one of us had a good, hot, smoking 
appetite, as was evidenced by the quick disappearance 
of the food, and the cries from the heads of tables : 
" Beef here, waiter," " Bread here, waiter," " Potatoes 
here, waiter," which soon resounded through the halL 



250 THE END OF AN ERA 

Nobody but the non-commissioned officers, stationed at 
the head and foot of the table, could address the waiters. 
These later fairly ran in filling orders. I found a little 
fellow sitting next to me who had only been in a day or 
two, and we had some quiet, timid talk between our- 
selves. 

" At-ten-tion ! " rang through the hall after twenty-five 
minutes consumed in consuming. Dead silence reigned 
where everybody had been talking. " Rise up ! " and we 
rose, re-formed in front of the mess-hall, were broken into 
columns of fours, marched back to barracks, and as the 
battalion reached its original position the command came, 
" Break ranks, march," which was the signal for a gen- 
eral mix-up, in a leisure period of thirty minutes which 
followed each meal, during which cadets were allowed 
to visit one another's rooms, and dispose of themselves 
as they saw fit, until " Study drum " beat. I thought 
trouble was in store for me then, for I discovered in the 
mess-hall not less than a dozen former acquaintances, 
most of whom were old cadets, and they discovered me. 
I apprehended that they would have something to say 
to me, and, knowing of my recent arrival, might amuse 
themselves at my expense ; but it was not so bad as I 
expected. Such of them as I met after the corps was 
dismissed spoke to me with civility and passed on. It 
was, as I afterwards learned, etiquette in an old cadet ac- 
quaintance not to torture a plebe whom he had known 
elsewhere. Being old cadets, they would not associate 
with a plebe, but, unless he was " impudent," they so far 
recognized former acquaintanceship as to let him alone. 

Before I reached the sallyport, however, several 
strange, saucy, and piratical-looking young Hessians had 
their eyes upon me, and my relief was very great when 
Louis, my guardian angel, came hurrying down from A 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 251 

Company, and with an aii' of authority said, " Here, 
Mr. Rat, you come with me." His whole manner changed 
as soon as we were out of their presence, and he said, 
" Those chaps woukl have drawn you into conversation in 
another minute, and then they would have had a lot of 
fun out of you." 

The permit to go out of limits, which Louis had ob- 
tained in the morning, was good until dress parade, and 
he proposed that we should go out and about. Before 
we left, I learned the meaning of his talk about " buying 
apples with my coat." During the half hour after dinner, 
a number of mountain women, with bags and baskets of 
apples, appeared in front of barracks, and the cadets car- 
ried on the liveliest imaginable trading with them, ex- 
changing old clothes for apples. 

At West Point, the cadet old clothes are religiously 
preserved and sold, and their proceeds are applied to a 
mess-fund. The interest on that fund is expended upon 
the cadet mess, and the fund has already grown so large 
that the character of cadet fare is much improved, and 
the cost of the mess to cadets is materially reduced. 
Think what might have been accomplished at the Vir- 
ginia Military Institute if this same policy had been 
pursued ! Instead of that, for fifty-eight years the cadets 
have been allowed to throw away their old clothes in the 
most reckless fashion. I have seen many a cadet jacket 
traded off for half a peck of apples ; and if a cadet were 
really hungry, I think he would trade the coat on his 
back for one apple-pie. 

That afternoon our stroll took us down to the river, 
where the terminus of the canal was located. There 
were in those days no railroads running into Lexington. 
The stage-coach and this primitive means of travel were 
its only public means of communication with the outside 



252 THE END OF AN ERA 

world. I soon learned where the laundries were, and 
where the boys skated in cold weather, and what were 
the different points of interest. Louis led me to the 
house of an old Irishman who sold cider and cakes to the 
cadets, and we regaled ourselves. Then we came back by 
the rear way up the stream called the Nile, which runs 
behind the Institute grounds, and clambered up the 
bluffs and stole around to the bakery where old Judge, 
the baker, gave us a hot loaf just drawn from the oven, 
it having been cooked for the cadets' supper. Louis 
explained that we were out of limits now, as cadets were 
forbidden to visit the bakery, and, if caught, received 
five demerits and an extra tour of guard duty. The 
sensation of disobeying orders was rather pleasant, I 
confess. Judge was a wonderful old negro ; he had been 
there many years. In appearance, he was a black Sancho 
Panza, fat and puffing and jolly ; he was a darkey of 
moods. Sometimes his mood was religious, sometimes 
it was profane ; but, whether the one or the other, he 
was always amusing. 

Out of that first introduction grew a long friendship 
with Judge, and when he confronted St. Peter, the pile 
of bread stacked up against him in Heaven must have 
been tremendous ; for every cadet who was at Lexington 
in the thirty years of his stewardship received from him 
at least ten loaves stolen from the Commonwealth of Vir- 
ginia. Bless his hot, jolly, fat, black, flour-smirched, 
roguish memory ! His portrait, with his baker's cap 
jauntily tipped, now adorns tlie cadet mess-hall in the 
company of generals and other distinguished citizens 
departed. 

Then we visited old Reilly, another famous character. 
Stone blind, the old fellow earned a good living making 
hair mattresses for the cadets. He measured, cut, sewed, 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 253 

trimmed, bound, filled, and knotted mattresses as well as 
any one could do with the finest eyesight. He was an 
ardent politician, and a devoted admirer of my father. 
The old man was always delighted to receive visitors, 
and was full of cadet knowledge and reminiscence as 
he sat there, blind as a bat, but working like a beaver. 

Then we strolled to the regions in rear of the pro- 
fessors' houses, where Louis showed me, near the bluffs, 
in a wooded spot, a sort of natural amphitheatre, which 
he described as the " fighting-ground." Seated on the 
edge of this depression, he entered on a vivid and thrill- 
ing description of the last great battle here, which had 
taken place between the present first captain, in his third 
class year, and another cadet ; it was very interesting. 

" But," he said, " of course he would not fight any 
more. First and second class men are above fighting. 
They frown it down and punish it. Only yearlings like 
myself and plebes like you fight, you know." 

" Yes," said I ; but I did not know any such thing 
until he told it to me. Thus we went on, he teaching 
and I absorbing like a sponge, all the while having a 
suspicion that I might see the " fighting-ground " again 
some day. Just then we caught the sound of a drum : 
" Rap, rap, rap, — rap, rap, rap, — rap, rap, rap, — rap, 
rap, rap, rap, — rap, rap, rap." 

Springing to his feet, he exclaimed : " Gracious ! there 
is dress parade ; we must run for it." So off we sped, 
running by the rear of the professors' houses and scram- 
bling over the stile, reaching the barracks as the boys 
were streaming down the stairways, pulling on their 
gloves and arranging their accoutrements. Louis barely 
saved his distance, and came tearing through the arch 
just as the command, " Fall in ! " was sung out by the 
four first sei'geants. I went with a squad of plebes, who 



254 THE END OF AN ERA 

without arms were marched out after the companies and 
formed on the left of the battalion. 

It was a brave sight when the drums and fifes struck 
up (we had no band in those days) ; the colors marched 
forth and gave the alignment : the companies followed and 
formed on the colors, and the officer in charge put the 
battalion through its drill. Then we marched back and 
were dismissed. Evening parade, supper, study hours, 
tattoo, taps, came in their regular order ; and as I went 
to sleep, soon after taps inspection, it was with the 
thought that this had been one of the most eventful and 
delightful days I ever spent. 

Reveille ! What part of cadet routine is so well remem- 
bered as that ? Awakened at crack of dawn from dream- 
less sleep by the long-drawn notes of fife and drum, our 
first semi-conscious impulse was to slumber on, soothed by 
the drowsy tune. Not long such thoughts, however ; for, 
with a quick ruffle of the drums, the tune was changed. 
A gay and lilting quickstep took its place, crashing up 
and down and through the dormitories. Quick, respon- 
sive lights were twinkling in a hundred rooms, where but 
a few moments before all was silence. Three hundred 
youngsters were hurrying for the ranks. As if to mock 
their haste, the tune changed again, and the music went 
floating off once more into dreamland, while the cadets 
grew more impetuous in their preparations. Then the 
last tune came. This was no sluggard's lullaby. It was 
a ringing summons to the front, in which the drums 
seemed to be trying to drown the air the fifes were piping 
gayly. The latest plebe in barracks knew the words : — ' 

" Wake-iip-rats-and-eome-to Reveille 
If-you-want to get-your-corp-orality, 
Wake up rats ! Come to Reveille 
If you want to get YOUR corporalite-e-e-e-e ! " 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 255 

Then, with three long rolls and two final thumps, the 
music ceased. 

Towards the close of this matin concert, stoops, stairs, 
and archway swarmed with hundreds of cadets, half- 
awake, huprying to their places in the forming ranks. As 
the last laggard whisked through the sallyport, strug- 
gling to avoid being late, the chill morning air resounded 
with the commands of the first sergeants : " Fall in A 
Compane-e-e-e ! Fall in B and C and D Compane-e-e-e ! " 
Then, after a moment's pause, sergeant after sergeant 
gave the command, " Front ! " and away they went, rat- 
tling off the rolls with surprising noise and speed. Then 
came another pause, in which, as the boys stood shiver- 
ing in the nipping daybreak, the first sergeants spotted 
absentees by repeating their names with marvelous and 
unerring accuracy. 

Ranks broken, the cadets, with heads drawn in and 
hands stuck in their waistbands, went back to quarters in 
sullen silence, or with deep anathemas upon reveille. 

Yet how beautiful it was ! On the eastern face of forest, 
peak, and barrack-tower the blush of morning shone, 
while all else was in shadow. Against the glowing east, 
the undulating sky-line of the distant Blue Ridge was cut 
clear and strong, with purple shadows filling in the space 
between us and them, save where the valley mists were 
tipped with morning light. Correggio could not paint nor 
Claud attain the limpid high-lights, the clear-obscure, the 
deep visible-invisible, of those exquisite autumn day- 
breaks in the mountains. 

Old boys, wherever you may be, have you forgotten 
them ? 

About them, even then, there was a sentiment, — a sen- 
timent which deepens as the years roll by. We were 
looking upon the shining morning face not only of na- 



256 THE END OF AN ERA 

ture, but of life also. Yes, in memory the shining morn- 
ing faces of those schoolboys still live, framed in a setting 
of mountain peaks and barrack towers, gilded by the first 
faint rays of sunrise. 

Thirty minutes after reveille found the plebes assem- 
bled in squads of three or four, and marched away by 
old cadets for awkward-squad exercises upon the parade 
ground. Drill until the drum for breakfast dispensed 
with all need of appetizing tonics. 

After breakfast, academic exercises not having been 
resumed as yet, the squad drills were continued, and far 
and wide on the jiarade the groups of plebes were to be 
seen, and the voice of the drill-master was heard. 

So far, all had gone well with me. Beyond some little 
chaffing, no old cadet had troubled me, and the squad- 
marcher had complimented me on attention and prompt- 
ness. 

We were resting. A squad of plebes, moved at double 
time, were brought down to where we were standing and 
halted near us, by a stocky, aggressive-looking old cadet. 
Having ordered a rest, Sprague (that was his name) came 
over to speak to our drill-master. " I 'm giving those 
Kats thunder ! " said he, pointing to the panting plebes. 
And so he was. Instead of practicing his squad in set- 
ting-up exercises, he was prancing them all over the 
parade ground. " What sort of Rats have you got ? " 
said he, looking us over in an insolent way. " Oh, a 
fair enough lot," said our squad-marcher, an easy-going 
but efficient man. Sprague looked at us keenly, and 
asked our names. Some look of mine, I presume, or the 
fact that I was nearest to him, made him continue his 
probing of me, and I was not very civil. 

" Why, Mr. Rat, 3^ou are impudent," said he. Then, 
glancing around to see that the sub-professor in charge 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 257 

was not looking, he commanded me to " hold up." That 
meant that I was to hold up my hand and let him twist 
my arm. By this time I was piping hot, but had sense 
enough to keep silent. 

" Hold up, sir ! " said he peremptorily. 

" Shut up, sir ! " replied I ; and there, all the wise 
counsel which Louis and Colonna had given me, and all 
the good resolves I had made, were vanished into thin air 
with those three words. 

" Mr. Rat," said he, drawing close to me, and shaking 
his finger in my face as he hissed the words, " I will at- 
tend to you as soon as we get back to barracks. I '11 take 
some of that rebellious spirit out of you. See if I don't." 
I was about to answer him with defiance, when our squad 
was called to attention and drill was resumed. It is not 
difficult to appreciate that the remainder of that drill was 
far from being a period of happiness. All the time, I 
was calculating how to receive the attack. Finally, I 
counted that if I could succeed in reaching our room, 
I might take a musket, and defend myself with a bayo- 
net. Sprague looked like a game one, and I knew that 
he would have plenty of backers. When the recall beat, 
our squad was near barracks. We went in on double 
time, and when the squad was dismissed, I made a bold 
dash for the archway. I thought I was safe, for I had 
nearly reached the sallyport ; but when almost in, I saw 
Sprague dismiss his squad and start after me, calling, 
" Catch that Rat ! " 

Through the arch we sped, and it seemed as if I would 
reach our room upon the second stoop, for I was nearly 
at the stairway. But ! but ! but ! Just at that moment 
a tremendous fellow shot like a goshawk from the door I 
"Was about to pass, and, slipping his right arm about my 
waist, nearly lifted me from the ground and held me tight 



258 THE END OF AN ERA 

as a vise, until Sprague and a dozen others came up. In- 
furiated beyond all control, I struck out like a clever fellow, 
but they bore me straight along, up the steps and into 
the first room on the second stoop, and in a jiffy had me 
bound and on a table. In another instant I should have 
felt the brass ferrule of a bayonet-scabbard administered 
without pity. The room was filled with cadets, all bent 
on disciplining a rebellious Rat. 

At the very crisis, the crowd near the doorway swayed 
back and forth. Some one exclaimed, " Get out of the 
way, or I '11 jslunge this bayonet into you ! " and Louis 
bounded in, with gleaming eyes, his jaws set like a bull- 
pup's. Rushing up to Sprague he said, " No, sir ! You '11 
not buck that Rat ! " 

" Yes, I will," said Sprague. 

" Not unless you can whip me ! " was the game reply of 
Louis, as he began to slip off his jacket. " I bucked him 
yesterday, and I asked Boggess all about what happened 
on the parade ground, and he says you provoked and 
teased the Rat until you forced him to be impudent. You 
shan't touch him." With that he sprang towards me to 
unloose the fastenings. The crowd grew agitated. Sprague 
made a motion to fight, and in another instant we should 
have had a pretty mess, when — 

" Rap, rap, rap ! Rap, rap, rap ! " came sharp and 
loud upon the door. Everybody knew what it meant I 
Somebody, quick as lightning, undid the straps, jerked me 
off the table, and stood me on my feet ; and Captain 
Semmes, the officer in charge, walked into the room 
serenely. With a dignified and inquiring look at the 
cadets now crowded back against the walls, he said, 
" Gentlemen, what 's all this disturbance ? " 

Louis was slipping on his cadet jacket, and, sidling up 
to me, said, " Don't say a word. Whatever you do, don't 
peach." 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 259 

" What does this all mean, gentlemen ? " repeated the 
cajjtain, in louder and more peremptory tones. 

Sprague at last spoke up : "• Oh, nothing ; I just had 
a little misunderstanding with that gentleman there," 
pointing to me. 

I was so elated by the unexpected turn things had 
taken that my good-nature had returned, and when Cap- 
tain Semmes turned to me and asked what it all meant, I 
said, " Oh, we were just trying to see who was strongest." 

" Go to your rooms, gentlemen, all of you, at once ! " 
said Captain Semmes, waiting to see that his orders were 
carried out ; and then he departed, without seeking too 
many explanations, for in his day he had been a terror to 
plebes. 

" Well, Mr. Rat ! " said Louis, when we reached our 
rooms, and found fat Colonna sitting there, still wearing 
his sword and sash, laughing at our discomfiture, " you 
have put your foot in it, sure enough. You have not only 
made yourself a target, but I expect that round-shouldered, 
long-armed, bull-yearling of a Sprague will beat me to 
death about this business." 

Then Colonna, who was above the dignity of such 
scrapes, but had witnessed my race and capture, nearly 
had fits describing how big Wood had seized me, and how 
they had turned me upside down going up the steps, and 
how I nearly kicked Billy Mason's eye out, and a lot of 
other things that did and did not happen ; for Colonna 
was a great tease. 

Dinner drum was sounded, and I went down, reflecting 
that the first twenty-four hours of my military life were 
completed. 

A day or two afterwards, academic studies were re- 
sumed. With mathematics, Latin, French, and drawing 
added to military duties, there was little time for play. 



260 THE END OF AN ERA 

A half day's holiday on Saturday, during which we 
were permitted to leave the Institute limits, gave us but 
scant opportunity for diversion. Even the letters of in- 
troduction I had brought, to the families of some of the 
professors, remained undelivered for lack of time. 

The winter of 1862-63 was cold enough. While the 
army of General Lee was encamped about Fredericks- 
burg, after a gallant defense of the place, we, "the 
seed-corn of the Confederacy," as Mr. Davis called us, 
were very comfortably cared for in barracks, which were 
heated and lighted as well as if no war had been in 
progress. 

There was no lack of news from the front. An older 
brother of Louis had been captured at Koanoke Island, 
and, while awaiting exchange, was acting as tactical 
officer of A Company, and sub-professor of mathematics. 
He was a sober-minded, earnest fellow, always watchful 
over us, and he occasionally sent for us to come to his 
quarters, that he might advise, or warn, or rebuke us in 
an affectionate and considerate way. We were devoted 
to him, and prized his good opinion more than that of 
anybody else. He bore my father's name, and" counted 
me as much in his charge as his own brother. By our 
access to his quarters opportunity was given us from time 
to time to hear a great deal of news from the front, for 
never a great battle came off but numbers of Virginia 
Military Institute boys were in it, and they seemed to 
have a talent for getting killed or wounded. Those from 
far Southern States, instead of going to Alabama or 
Mississippi or Louisiana during their short leaves, would 
come to the Virginia Military Institute, room with some 
sub-professor of their own class, and assist in teaching, 
until sufficiently restored to return to duty. 

Captain Henry A. Wise was a universal favorite with 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 261 

the graduates, and his quarters were seldom without some 
occupant of the class described above. Everybody con- 
nected with the Institute had a nickname: General 
Smith was " Old Spex," Colonel Preston was " Old 
Bald," Stonewall Jackson was "Old Jack," General Col- 
ston " Old Polly," Colonel Williamson " Old Tom," Colo- 
nel Gilliam " Old Gill," and down to the youngest 
" sub " all were nicknamed, and seldom referred to save 
by their sobriquets. For some reason, Captain Wise was 
called " Chinook." Nobody knew exactly why. Among 
the cadets, every man of prominence had a nickname : 
there was " Dad " Wyatt, so called for age, and " Dad " 
Nelson for extreme youth, and " Duck " Colonna for his 
short legs, and " Bull " Temple for his strength, and 
" Jane " Creighton for his gentleness, and so on, ad in- 
finitum. Louis and I escaped naming until a third cadet 
of our name arrived. He was an odd fish, a cousin of 
both of us, who, while not very studious in things taught 
there, had studied " The Adventures of Simon Suggs " 
until he knew them by heart, and quoted them on all 
occasions. He soon became known as " Suggs," and the 
cognomen spread until all three of us were called " Suggs 
J.," " Suggs L.," and " Suggs W.," as if we never had 
any other names. One day the corporal of the guard 
reported me for noise on the stoop, and inadvertently 
entered me on the delinquent list as " Suggs J." The 
adjutant knew whom he meant, but reported him for 
carelessness. 

After the battle of Fredericksburg, we heard all about 
it in the rooms of " Old Chinook," from men who had 
participated in its glories. I forget who they were, but 
it was probably " Sheep " Floweree of Mississippi, or 
" Bute " Henderson, or " Tige " Hardin, or " Marsh " Mc- 
Donald, all of whom, at one time or another, turned up 



262 THE END OF AN ERA 

there. To the outside world, they were colonels and 
majors, etc. : at the Virginia Military Institute, they 
were " Sheep " and " Bute " and " Tige." Many a day, 
out of study hours, from their lips we would drink in 
the story of the repulse of Meagher's Irish Brigade at 
Marye's Heights, or how Hayes made his stand at Ham- 
ilton Crossing, or Pender at the railroad, or how Stuart's 
Horse Artillery raked Franklin's Corps on the Rappa- 
hannock flats. Very few boys have had such practical 
lessons in the art of war. 

Poor " Chinook," who longed for his exchange, and 
chafed at the delays which made him miss these battles, 
looked dreadfully depressed, and as for ourselves, Louis 
and I felt it was an outrage that we were penned up 
and kept away from these wondrous sights and scenes. 

In February, we had a cold, hard freeze ; all drills 
were suspended ; the North River was hard-frozen. At 
evening parade on Friday, an order was published an- 
nouncing that a supply of ice for the following summer 
was most desirable ; that, owing to the number of labor- 
ers who had volunteered, the superintendent was unable 
to secure the necessary force to save the ice-crop ; and 
that every cadet who would volunteer for Saturday to 
work at filling the ice-houses of the Institute should have 
three afternoons' leave, from dinner to dress-parade, the 
following week, for skating. At the call for volun- 
teers the corps stepped to the front as one man. Of 
course they did ; what better fun than that did anybody 
want ? 

The next morning, cadets were ordered to put on old 
clothes. The companies were divided into working 
squads, and marched to the river. We had all the saws, 
and axes, and ice-hooks, and slides, and horses we needed. 
The strongest men went out and cut the ice ; the smaller 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 263 

chaps were worked in teams, with ropes to secure it and 
drag it to the wagons. Some of the country boys were 
detailed as teamsters. Squads were stationed at the ice- 
houses to receive and dump the loads. Fires were built 
along the river banks. Those drowsy country horses 
were never pushed so hard, or heard the whips crack so 
loudly, as they did that day. We went to work in relays. 
" Old Spex " had rations and hot coffee served upon the 
river bank. And when the cold sun was sinking in a 
red western sky, the corps, its work completely done, 
filled with joyous anticipations for the coming week, was 
trotting homeward across the bridge at a double-quick, 
the happiest, joUiest set of youngsters in the Southern 
Confederacy. 

Then came the skating time. News of our holiday 
spread over the town, and all the pretty girls in Lexing- 
ton, and many of the citizens, were there to see the 
sport. 

There was no lack of skates ; the arsenal, long since 
disappeared, stood in the barracks' quadrangle in those 
days. It was the general depository of all the things left 
by the cadets who marched to the war in 1861. I fear 
little regard was paid to their vested rights. Nearly 
every old trunk in that arsenal had by this time been 
rifled. Many a cadet jacket and trousers, left there by 
some old cadet with the purjDOse of returning for it some 
day, had been " appropriated " long ago, worn out, and 
traded off for apples. In cadet morals, this is not steal- 
ing. The conditions existing th'ere at any time amount 
almost to communism ; at the period referred to, the 
seizure of everything required was justified under the 
plea of military necessity. Fortunately, the arsenal was 
burned by General Hunter in 1864, so that the absent 
cadets who had been robbed of their skates doubtless 



264 THE END OF AN ERA 

thought their goods were destroyed by fate of war, and 
never knew that they had been used by their own com- 
rades ; else had there been, I fear, after the war, grave 
charges against all of us. 

Among the debris piled helter-skelter in the arsenal, 
after the sundry pickings-over to which its contents had 
been subjected, somebody found an old drum-major's 
shako, relic of the pomp and panoply of j^eace times. 
The first appearance of this shako in public was on the 
head of a long-legged cadet, who wore it in a game of 
shinny at our ice carnival. It was not long before a 
bandy-stick knocked his shako in the air. That was 
suoo-estion enouoh. Soon another cadet took a crack at 
it, and its wearer, dotlging and racing, went streaming 
away with fifty fellows following. 

Out of this grew a famous game called " tapping the 
shako." Whoever was fast enough to catch the wearer, 
and tap his shako, became entitled to place it on his 
head, and wear it until a fleeter-footed skater won it from 
him. It was but a little while, of course, before it fell 
into the hands of the best skater and most adroit dodger 
in the corps ; and then the concentrated energies of a 
hundred men to overhaul its owner furnished marvelous 
excitement and noble sport. In one of these contests, the 
race was prolonged almost, if not quite, to Loch Laird, 
five miles down the river. The sport elicited wonderful 
displays of endurance, agility, and pluck. 

On our last day, we gave an unexpected exhibition. 
The weather had moderated, but apparently not enough 
to make the ice dangerous. In fact, however, the freeze 
had been so sudden that the ice was filled with air-holes. 
Our great game had now been regulated, for in its earlier 
stages we found that certain cadets, like certain hounds, 
instead of running true to the line, would wait for the 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 265 

quarry to double and then take a .short cross-cut upon him. 
So we staked the centre of the river, and forced every 
man to follow the course if he claimed a touch. This 
afternoon, a great crowd of spectators was assembled ; we 
had had a glorious breakaway, and the old black shako, on 
the head of some fleet-footed fellow, went whirling down 
the river with the pack in full cry, the crowds on the 
banks delighted. For a little while the chase disappeared, 
and then came back on the near side of the stream, 
but out towards the centre. The boys were well bunched ; 
not less than six or eight were close upon the leader. 
The race grew intensely exciting ; some men on horse- 
back were galloping along the bank. The women were 
waving their handkerchiefs and clapping their hands 
with delight. 

The closest follower made a fine burst of speed, had 
raised his stick to tap the shako, when crash went the ice, 
and both men disappeared, the old black shako alone 
remaining in sight floating on the water. A wail and 
screams went up from the shore. One after another of 
those in hot pursuit plumped into the hole before they 
could check their headway, and in another moment six 
or eight of the best fellows in the corps were floundering 
in the deep water, the ice at the edges breaking under 
them at each attempt they made to scramble out. Then 
came an instance of the power of discipline. 

A number of us smaller boys had not followed the 
chase ; as soon as we saw the accident, we hurried towards 
the scene. No doubt further misfortune would have be- 
fallen us, but for the cool-headed behavior of Sam 
Shriver, a second-class man. Darting up like a general, 
his towering figure caught all eyes as he said, "Atten- 
tion ! " All was silence. 

"Where are the safety ropes? "he demanded. We 



266 THE END OF AN ERA 

had had them all the time until now ; now, when we 
needed them tnost, they were gone, of course. He never 
paused a second. 

Looking to the hole he cried, " Hold fast, boys. Don't 
exhaust yourselves. I '11 have you out in a moment." 

They were making a fearful splutter in the hole, 
some calling for help, some swearing, some grunting, and 
one, as we afterwards heard, praying. What friglitened 
Louis and myself most was that we saw dear old Colonna 
and Dad Nelson in there. 

Turning to us, Shriver said, " Form a line — quick ! " 

It was formed, consisting of about fifty men. 

" Let the far end of the line get well ashore," said he, 
and it was there»in a jiffy. " Small men in front," and 
small men came to the front. That put Louis and myself 
well to the front. 

" Lock wrists," cried Sam, and each of us seized the 
wrist of the man in front of and behind us, and he ours ; 
we stretched out. 

" Advance to hole," said he. " Ten front files lie 
down. Rear files shove away," said he, as soon as we 
were down. 

" Louis, we 're in for it," said I. 

" Yes, I know," he replied. " We '11 probably break 
in, but if we connect with them, the rear men will pull us 
all out together." So they shoved us over the ice on our 
stomachs until the front man reached the nearest fellow 
in the hole, and the man behind him fastened to him, 
and so on until all were firmly clutched together. When 
all those in the hole were fast to each other firmly, Sam 
gave command, " Haul away slowly ! " 

As the rear men began to move backward, out came 
the first man from the hole, and the next and the next, 
and then their weight broke the ice and we all went down 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 267 

together, but were still moving shoreward, while Shriver 
called to us not to let our hold break. Thus drasired, 
we soon reached the sound ice, and man after man came 
up and out of the water until all were saved, by the 
promptness of gallant Sam Shriver, who became the lion 
of the hour. Men never hugged each other's wrists more 
tightly than did we that day, and the prints of fingers 
were so deep on my wrists I thought the blood would 
start from them. 

Cold ? It was fearful ! " Old Spex " had witnessed it 
aU. " Double-quick those men to barracks, Mr. Shriver," 
said he ; "I '11 ride forward to the hospital and have hot 
grog served to them when they are well rubbed down. 
You know I am a temperance advocate, but this is medi- 
cine. Look out there for little Nelson and Barton ; they 
are nearly frozen." With that he managed to spur his fat 
sorrel to a clumsy trot, and we went jogging back to bar- 
racks, warm enough by the time we reached there, but 
not averse to the china mugs of steaming whiskey and 
ginger which were served from a tin bucket by the 
hospital steward. Nobody was the worse for it. Is it 
not surprising what youngsters of that age can stand ? 

The spring of 1863 opened, and with it began the hard 
work, first in company and then in battalion drill. Be- 
sides this, the period of examinations was approaching. I 
had been neither studious nor soldierly, and now, after 
the severe drills, it was difficult to bring one's self down 
to the hard study necessary to pass examinations. More 
than once during this springtime of 1863, the corps had 
lost valuable time from study in attending the burial of 
distinguished officers, — first, a Captain Davidson, who 
had fallen with great distinction ; then General Paxton, 
a resident of Lexington ; and lastly came an announce- 
.ment which fell like a pall upon the school. 



268 THE END OF AN ERA 

Stonewall Jackson was dead ! Conld it be possible ? 
We had believed that he bore a charmed life. The Insti- 
tute had sent a host of magnificent officers to the front. 
There were Rhodes, Mahone, Lindsay, Walker, the Pat- 
ton bi'others, Lane, Crutclifield, McCausland, Colston, 
and many others of lower rank ; but " Old Jack " was, 
"from his shoulders and upwards, tallest among the 
people," in the estimation of the cadets. His career had 
not only been surpassingly brilliant, but it was altogether 
surprising. 

Of the old Presbyterian stock of the valley, his people 
had not much social prominence, and he had gone to 
West Point without particular advantages. After faith- 
ful but not exceptional service in Mexico, he had resigned 
from the army and assumed a professorship here. His 
presence was not striking, his manners were not attrac- 
tive, and his habits were so eccentric that he had not 
ranked high as a professor ; even at the time of his most 
astonishing victories, and when any cadet there would 
have given all he possessed to be with him, the stories 
of " Old Jack's " eccentricities made daily sport for the 
cadets. 

For example, it was a famous joke how, when he had 
been drilling the third class in light artillery, with the 
plebes as horses, the boys had drawn the linchpins from 
the cannon wheels, and, as the guns made the turn near 
the parapet, the wheels had come oi¥ and sent the pieces 
tumbling over the slope. When this would happen, as 
it often did. Major Jackson would gallop up, look ruefully 
down the slope, and remark, without the slightest suspi- 
cion : " There must be something defective in the con- 
struction of these linchpins ; they seem inclined to fly out 
whenever the pieces in rapid motion change direction." 

He was not very friendly with General Smith ; it was 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 269 

said that lie would have nothing to do with him, except 
officially. Professors were required to make their weekly 
report to the superintendent at four o'clock Friday after- 
noon. It was told of " Old Jack " that Friday afternoon, 
within a few minutes of four o'clock, he would appear 
in front of the superintendent's office and walk up and 
down until the clock struck four. It made no difference 
whether it was raining, hailing, snowing, or freezing, he 
would not enter until the clock struck ; then, with mili- 
tary pi-ecision, he would advance to the office of the sujjer- 
intendent, salute, lay his repoi-t upon the table, face 
about, and walk out. It was also related that during the 
recitations he was frequently occupied in rubbing one 
side of himself, under the impression, confided to a select 
few, that one side of his body was not so well nourished 
as the other, and was gradually wasting away. 

When the cadet corps, in the spring of 1861, was 
ordered to damp Lee at Richmond, and its members were 
put to drilling recruits, it is safe to say that as little was 
expected of Colonel Jackson as of any member of the 
faculty. Nobody suspected the great military genius, the 
untiring energy, the marvelous resourcefulness, the thirst- 
ing fury, which lurked beneath that impassive and eccen- 
tric exterior. 

But when the story of Manassas came, and men learned 
that the day was saved by Jackson, standing like a stone- 
wall ; when, in his independent command, he fought and 
won the battles of the valley campaign ; when, in the 
seven days' fighting at Richmond, he threw himself upon 
the flank of McClellan ; and as he went on and on, mount- 
ing ever upward, until he became Lee's right arm, — then 
the men who had known him only as an odd professor 
forgot his idiosyncrasies, and exulted that our school had 
furnished the paladin of the Confederacy. 



270 THE END OF AN ERA 

It was a bitter, bitter day of mourning for all of us 
when the corps was marched down to the canal terminus 
to meet all that was mortal of Stonewall Jackson. We 
had heard the name of every officer who attended the 
remains. 

With reversed arms and muffled drums we bore him 
back to the Institute, and placed him in the section-room 
in which he had taught. There the body lay in state 
until the following day. The lilacs and early spring 
flowers were just blooming. The number of people who 
came to view him for the last time was immense : men 
and women wept over his bier as if his death was a per- 
sonal affliction ; then I saw that the Presbyterians could 
weep like other folks. The flowers piled about the coffin 
hid it and its form from view. I shall ever count it a 
great privilege that I was one of the gixard who, through 
the silence of the night, and when the crowds had de- 
parted, stood watch and ward alone with the remains of 
the great " Stonewall." 

Next day, we buried him with pomp of woe, the cadets 
his escort of honor : with minute-guns, and tolling bells, 
and most impressive circumstance, we bore him to his 
rest. But those ceremonies were to me far less impressive 
than walking post in that bare section-room, in the still 
hours of night, reflecting that there lay all that was left 
of one whose name still thrilled the world. 

The burial of Stonewall Jackson made a deep im- 
pression upon the corps of cadets. It had been our 
custom, when things seemed to be going amiss in the 
army, to say, " Wait until ' Old Jack ' gets there ; he 
will straighten matters out." We felt that the loss was 
irreparable. The cold face on which we had looked 
taught us lessons which have been dropped from the 
curriculum in these tame days of peace. 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 271 

Many a cadet resolved that he would delay no longer 
in offering his services to his country, and, although the 
end of the session was near at hand, several refused to 
remain longer, and resigned at once. 

The session of 1862-63 was drawing rapidly to a close. 
Louis and I both became alarmed about joassing our 
examinations, he to pass to the second class and I to the 
third, I had nearly the limit of demerits, for besides 
other weaknesses, I had developed a love affair uptown 
with a pretty little Presbyterian, and, being caught out 
of limits, had been confined to barracks, and assigned 
to several extra tours of guard duty. At last the event- 
ful 4th of July arrived, the day on which the gradu- 
ating class receives its diplomas and class standings, and 
cadet officers for the ensuing year are announced ; it is 
also the day when the band plays " Auld Lang Syne," at 
hearing which a rat becomes an old cadet. 

When the announcements were read out, Louis and I 
found that we had passed our classes fairly well, but 
far from brilliantly ; when it came to publishing commis- 
sioned officers from the new first class, our old friend and 
room-mate, Colonna, moved up to second captain. To 
our agreeable surprise, Louis received a good sei"geant's 
appointment. I was left a private ; I deserved it. All 
those most interested in me had warned me such woidd 
be the result if I pursued my trifling, heedless course ; 
and now I stood chagrined and crestfallen, while others 
received the honors. Nevertheless, I acknowledged to 
myself that it was just, and swallowed whatever disap- 
pointment I felt, inwardly resolving, however, that next 
year should tell a different tale. 

Those familiar with the history of that period will not 
forget that on this 4th of July, 1863, when we were 
engrossed with these petty concerns, the great battle of 



272 THE J:ND OF AN ERA 

Gettysburg was being fought, and the surrender of Vlcks- 
burg was taking place. 

A few days before the final ceremonies, we had gone 
into camp for the summer in a grove in rear of the super- 
intendent's house: there we remained for two months, 
chiefly engaged in drilling the new cadets. It was a 
stupid period for the graduates, and several of the sub-pro- 
fessors had departed for the war, and many of the second- 
class men had received furloughs. The monotony of 
camp life was broken in the latter part of August, when 
we were given an arduous march to Covington to meet 
a raiding party from West Virginia under General Aver- 
ill ; but the general had displayed great good sense, as we 
thought, by going elsewhere before our arrival. 

The 1st of September, we broke camp, returned to bar- 
racks, and resumed academic duties with great earnest- 
ness. 

I keenly realized the advantages lost by the trifling of 
my first year, and, in the long periods for reflection in 
camp, had fully determined to prove myself a better stu- 
dent and soldier than I had yet been. It is well enough 
to have people laugh at one's reckless escapades and fool- 
ish antics, but those things count against a fellow when 
it comes to choosing the boys who have the sterling stuff 
in them. 

Our old and tried mentor Colonna, being now an offi- 
cer, had gone to live with his own classmates in a tower 
room. Louis and I, in solemn conclave, selected as our 
room-mates " Squirrel " Overton, " Jack " Stanard, and a 
little rat named Harris, a cousin of Overton. In these 
we felt we had an earnest set of room-mates, and we re- 
solved that there was to be no more skylarking, no more 
defiance of discipline, and a strictly moral and studious 
aggregation. Then came the sultry June days, when it 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 273 

was work, work, work at books preparing for examina- 
tions, and drill, drill, drill in the school of the battalion. 

From reveille until four o'clock p. m., we were in the 
section-room reciting, or studying in our quarters on re- 
view. At four o'clock, the battalion was formed for drill, 
and exercised in the hot sun, until time for dress parade, 
in every intricate manoeuvre. More than one little fellow 
fell exhausted from the intense strain, and every cadet 
in the corps was longing for the time when our arduous 
apprenticeship would end. 

One hot, steaming evening, Charley Faulkner, Phillips, 
and I sat in an open window which overlooked the parade 
ground. It was during the half hour of leisure after 
dinner, — the only leisure time that was left to us. The 
parade ground shimmered with the noonday heat. Not a 
leaf of the guard-tree was shaken by the slightest breeze. 
We were commiserating each other at the sweltering pro- 
spect of two hours' drill in a tight-fitting uniform under 
the rays of such a sun. 

" It 's brutal," exclaimed Faulkner. " It 's enough to 
kill a man." We all called each other " men." 

" Yes," said Phillips, " somebody will be sunstruck. 
Poor little Jefferson fainted yesterday, and to-day is 
worse." 

" Then why don't you faint, Reuben ? " said I. " Char- 
ley and I will bring you off the field, and that wiU give us 
all a rest." 

" I '11 ' cut ' with you two fellows which shall faint," 
said Reuben. AU matters of lot were decided by opening 
a book, and the second letter, second line, left-hand page, 
decided the matter: "a" was best, and "z" was worst. 
Down came the book, and Reuben cut the lowest letter ; 
so it fell to him to faint, and to us to bring him off the 
field. When the drill-drum beat that afternoon, we fell 



274 THE END OF AN ERA 

in line with Reuben between us. As the company was 
divided into platoons, we came near being separated, for 
Faulkner was last man in our platoon. Breaking the 
battalion into column of platoons, Shipp marched us to 
the drill grounds. Oh, it was hot, — hot enough to dis- 
arm suspicion at anybody's fainting. 

Through all the evolutions we went, — " Right of com- 
pany's rear into column ; " " Close column by divisions 
on second division, right in front ; " " To the rear by the 
right flank, pass the defile," and what not. The file- 
closers were so near to us we could not talk. All we 
could do was to nudge Reuben, and we began to think he 
would never faint. 

At last Shipp trotted his great gray horse to the flank 
of the battalion, and gave the command, " Forward into 
line, — forward double time, — march." The perspira- 
tion was streaming from us. 

"Now, if ever, Reuben," I whispered, as we started off; 
and, sure enough, Reuben made a feint of stumbling, his 
gun pitched forward from his shoulder, and he threw 
himself forward in as beautiful a faint as ever was feinted. 

" Help him there, Faulkner and Wise," said the left 
guide, as the battalion swept on ; and Charley and I bent 
over him with infinite tenderness and concern. We were 
about to pass some congratulations, when I looked up and 
saw Shipp galloping, warning Phillips. That gave him 
all the pallor he needed. 

" Who is that man ? " said the major. 

" Phillips, sir," said Faulkner and myself, rising and 
saluting. 

"Is he seriously ill ? " 

" No, sir, hope not, — seems to be overcome by heat." 

" Eh ! take him to barracks and summon the surgeon," 
said he, and, roweling the old gray, he galloped back to 



A NEW PHASE OF MILITARY LIFE 275 

the command. He did not order us to return, so Master 
Faulkner and I remained in barracks to nurse the invalid, 
after making a brave show of his helplessness as we 
assisted him across the plain. In barracks, we at once 
began business. Faulkner hurried to the hospital for a 
bucket of ice for the invalid. A happy thought struck 
me. I stole around behind Colonel Williamson's, and 
milked his cow into our drinking-pail. We three then 
sat up in a quiet room, drinking iced milk, watching the 
battalion drill. 

It was all very well until next evening parade, when we 
heard ourselves reported for not returning to ranks, and, 
in spite of some very plausible excuses given to the com- 
mandant, five more demerits were added to our already 
overflowing score. The story of our ruse was all over bar- 
racks, and I have always thought it had reached Shipp's 
ears. 

Whether it did or not, I had by this time, and in many 
ways, become known to the superintendent and command- 
ant as mixed up in, and capable of, any sort of prank or 
dereliction which took place, — a reputation by no means 
enviable, let me assure you. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

A HUNT AND ALMOST A LICKING 

That was a great flight of wild pigeons in the Brushy 
Hills in the autumn of 1863, and nobody ever before saw 
so many squirrels there. Louis and I had been behaving 
well. Our class standing was good, and our conduct 
exemplary. 

We found it easy now to secure special permits, and 
for privileges were content to apply on Fridays for leave 
of absence from Saturday dinner roll-call. This gave 
us substantially all day for hunting. General Philip St. 
George Cocke, a wealthy patron of the school, had pre- 
sented to it a stand of small smooth-bore muskets, which 
we found to be excellent fowling-pieces. 

At this period of the war, no shot were purchasable in 
stores. The devices to which we resorted to provide shot 
may be interesting. Our lead we obtained from the roof 
of an unoccupied outhouse. In our earlier efforts, we beat 
the lead into thin sheets, then cut it into narrow strips, 
then cross-cut the strips into cubes. These we rolled be- 
tween two drawing-boards until the pellets were approxi- 
mately round. That method proving slow, we shifted to 
another. We obtained a piece of sheet tin, which we 
perforated with small nail-holes. To this sheet of tin we 
attached a long handle. Then we secured a brazier with 
some charcoal and a ladle. With this outfit we heated 
the lead on the brazier. When it was thoroughly melted, 
one man poured it slowly from the spoon upon the sheet 



A HUNT AND ALMOST A LICKING 277 

of tin, while the other shook the tin gently over a bucket 
of water. The lead dropped into the water in little glob- 
ules, through the perforations of the tin. When the 
operation was complete, we had shot shaj)ed like exclama- 
tion-points. All that remained was to cut off their tails, 
and this we did with a patience and perseverance worthy 
of a more important cause. The shot were heavier than 
those we buy in stores, and very deadly in their effects. 

One Friday night in October, 1863, we had obtained 
a permit to be absent next day from breakfast roll-call 
until dress parade. We had been so pressed with aca- 
demic and military duties that we had not manufactured 
our supply of shot. Conic sections, Livy, and sui'veyiug 
had me in their grip, and Louis was wrestling with cal- 
culus and engineering. Something must be done, or our 
hunt, so cherished in anticipation, would fall to the ground. 
True, we were now good boys, but we had not been such 
so long that our old tricks were forgotten. In the busy 
days preparatory to examinations, a favorite method of 
studying out of hours had been to wait until after taps 
inspection, affix blankets around the sides of the square 
oaken table, and, crawling under the table with a candle, 
to study there for an hour or two. To-night we resolved 
to utilize that device. 

It is providential that the fumes of the charcoal in the 
brazier did not smother us both. It was close quarters 
under there. With brazier, bucket, and lead spoon, little 
room was left for the workmen ; but we made famous 
progress. Our legs stuck out under the blankets, and 
now and again we would pull out, or, so to speak, come to 
the surface, and have a breathing spell. Oblivious of all 
else, and unable to hear outside sounds, we had nearly 
finished our task, when " Rap, rap, rap ! " came the knock 
of an inspector upon our door. We blew out the light. 



278 THE END OF AN ERA 

and drew our legs inside, but the brazier sent forth a 
ruddy glow which betrayed us. 

" Who is orderly here ? " asked the voice of a sub- 
professor. We crawled up, red and begrimed. " What 
does this all mean ? " said he. 

We mumbled out some explanations. " The sentinel 
has been ordering lights out in this room for five min- 
utes," said he sternly. I glanced at the confounded blan- 
kets, and saw that the corner of one of them had been 
sagged by our scrambling about, so that an aperture was 
left, through which a beam of light went straight out the 
glass doorway and shone upon a pillar of the stooj), mak- 
ing a flaring signal. Coming into barracks late, the offi- 
cer had seen it, and this visit was the result of our calm 
disregard of repeated cries of "Lights out in 28," which 
cries we had not heard. 

" Take that fire out and extinguish it. Open the win- 
dows, and let out these poisonous gases. It is a mercy 
you are not smothered to death, and that the barracks 
have not been set on fire," said the officer, as he de})arted. 

On Monday morning, we answered to the following re- 
ports : " Lights up after taps ; repeated disobedience of 
orders in failing to extinguish lights ; introducing fire 
into bari-acks." We expected about ten demerits each, 
to say nothing of extra tours and confinement to limits. 
But my troubles were not ended with this episode. The 
quartermaster's store was only opened upon Saturday 
after breakfast. It was essential that both of us should 
have certain things from the store in the morning before 
starting on our hunt. With pass-books in hand, the cadets 
who sought supplies formed in line, and were admitted to 
the store in tlie order of their arrival. That we might 
leave as early as possible, Louis and I cast lots to decide 
which should remain from breakfast with the pass-books 



A HUNT AND ALMOST A LICKING 279 

and get near the store door. The one who went to break- 
fast was to bring the other man's meal buttoned in the 
breast of his jacket. The lot to remain fell to me. When 
Louis came back from breakfast, he found a very dam- 
aged-looking comrade in our room ; and this is how it all 
came about : — 

The store was on the fourth stoop, in a large room over 
the archway. Only six or eight boys had remained from 
breakfast. I was fourth or fifth in line. In front of me 
were three plebes and an old cadet. While waiting, a 
quarrel arose between the old cadet and the plebes about 
their respective places in line. The old cadet insisted 
that they should let him enter first, and they refused. It 
was a cold, gray morning, and none of us were in pleasant 
humor at being kejat standing there shivering during the 
long delay. The grumbling went on between them until 
at last the old cadet punched the little fellow in front of 
him in the ribs, and butted him with his knees, until he 
began to cry. The boy's name was Logan. He was no 
match for his antagonist. It was a mean piece of bully- 
ing, and such as no old cadet had the right to indidge in. 
The old cadet had been there two years already, having 
been found deficient the previous July ; so that, while 
we were both now third-class men, he had been an old 
cadet when I was a plebe. Our class relations had 
been friendly enough, and at last I ventured to remon- 
strate in a concilatory way with him about his cruelty to 
Logan. 

To my surprise, he wheeled about and said : " What 
have you got to do with it ? Maybe you want to take the 
rat's part. Ever since you came here, you have been that 
way." This was not true, for I had been a terror to 
plebes in camp. 

" No," I protested, still good-tempered. " But you 



280 THE END OF AN ERA 

have no right to take his place in line, and he is too small 
to defend himself." 

" You 're a liar ! " he blurted out. 

" Don't say that," said I. " You and I are friends. 
You don't mean it, and will be sorry when you are cool." 

" Yes, I do mean it ! " shouted he. " You are a liar ; 
and you sneaked out of the first row you got into when 
you came hei-e." 

He pi'oceeded no further in that story. I popped him 
in the eye with the best left-hander I could plant ; and at 
it we went, like a pair of jack-snappers, the plebes dancing 
about in wonder. He had a great reach. He fetched 
me several very substantial cracks. Nevertheless, the 
first blow I hit him gave me a decided advantage, and I 
succeeded in closing with him and getting his head in 
chancery. Thus holding him, I punched his nose and 
eyes and mouth in fine form ; but, in spite of all I could 
do, I felt his long, sinewy arm steal up my back, and his 
fingers close with a choking grip upon my collar. Hug ! 
I hugged his head with all my might and main, as he 
tugged to extricate himself. 

" Stop that noise on fourth stoop ! " shouted the sentry 
in the area, time and time again ; but we were too busy 
to pay attention to his commands. We were panting like 
two 3'oung bucks with locked horns. Renewing the 
whacking at his head under my arm, I asked, " Have you 
got enough ? " I knew he did not have enough. Still I 
thought it would do no harm to inquire. 

" No ! " roared he ; " I '11 give you enough before this 
thing is over." With that I slung him around and tried 
to throw him ; but his bow-legs seemed set as firmly as 
the tovv^ers of the arch. I not only found that he could 
stand punishment, but that he had the advantage of me 
in wind. 



A HUNT AND ALMOST A LICKING 281 

The sentinel shouted for the officer of the clay, and the 
two commanded, " Stop that noise in barracks ! " as if 
their throats would burst. At last, with a supreme effort, 
he dragged himself out from under my arm, whirled me 
about, seized me by the hair with both hands, dashed 
me down to my knees, bumped my head upon the frozen 
oak planks, and kicked me in the face. I saw a thousand 
stars. The poor little rats were almost frantic. 

" Got enough, eh? " said he ironically, as, panting from 
his triumphant efforts, he planted me a savage uppercut 
under the arm with which I was trying to protect my face. 
" Maybe you ^ve got enough now ? " 

" Not much ! " said I, trying to tear loose from his grip 
on my hair ; but down I went again, for he overmatched 
me. Whack, thump, bang ! he began afresh. I 'm glad 
I don't have to tell how that fight ended. Thank heaven, 
it did n't end. Just as matters seemed gi-owing desper- 
ate, the officer of the day, with jangling sword, came 
bounding up the stairway three steps at a time, and, 
rushing to where we were clinched, he caught us in the 
collars and snatched us apart. Holding us at arm's length, 
and looking at us covered with blood, he commanded the 
peace, and ordered us to our rooms. 

My adversary walked sulkily away. He was no beauty. 
He had a bulging eye like a crab, and some of his teeth 
were very loose. But I ? My ! oh, my ! but I was a 
physical wreck. My jacket, where I held his head so 
long, was fairly soaked with gore. Two or three buttons 
were torn off, and my collar was under one ear. The 
toe of his shoe had raked off about an inch of skin from 
the ridge of my nose. A knot as large as a pigeon's egg 
was on my forehead, and the last I saw of him he was 
picking my hair off his fingers. 

" Carried almost too many guns for you, did n't he ? " 



282 THE END OF AN ERA 

said Shafer, the officer of the day, as we descended to- 
gether. 

With a sickly grin, I answered, " I don't know. I 
was doing my best. But I 'm mighty glad you came, 
Shafer." 

Then the kind fellow, who evidently sympathized with 
my side of the story, went with me to the room and 
helped me wash up and preen my badly ruffled plumage. 
About this time, we heard the tramp of the corps return- 
ing ; and Louis, who had heard some rumors at the arch- 
way, rushed up to know what it was all about. 

" Here, take the pass-books. Hurry, and you '11 get in 
line in time. I broke up the waiting line," said I. 

" Are you able to go ? " asked he. 

" Of course I am. I '11 go to the hospital with the sick- 
list and get my nose patched by the time you finish at the 
store. Hurry ! " So off he darted, and I fell in at sick- 
call. Thirty minutes later, we were scampering across the 
hills with our guns, — I slightly disfigured by a long 
patch of adhesive plaster on my nose, and wearing my 
cap well back, to avoid contact with that pigeon egg on 
my forehead. 

And a great day we had of it. As if to compensate us 
for our tribulations, we struck a flight of pigeons and 
found numbers of squirrels. In fact, we killed so many 
that we found it necessary to sling our game upon a pole, 
which we bore between us on our shoulders. When we 
appeared in barracks, in ample time for dress-parade, we 
were the envy of the corps. We sent a nice bunch of 
game to the superintendent's wife. Considering the great 
number of delinquencies for which we were to make an- 
swer Monday morning to the commandant, we seriously 
debated whether it would be counted as " boot-licking," 
if we sent some of our game to the officers' mess. " Boot- 



A HUNT AND ALMOST A LICKING 283 

licking," or seeking favor with officers, was looked upon 
as a heinous crime in our code of deportment. However, 
as old Chinook belonged to the officers' mess, we con- 
cluded to let them have a few. Then we secured permit 
for private breakfast in the mess-hall Sunday morning, 
and to visit old Judge at the kitchens to deliver our 
game and make preliminary arrangements. 

With invitations sent to a few to our choice symposium 
next morning, the day's work was complete. We made 
no effort that night, rest assured, to keep lights up after 
taps. 

We came out of our troubles better than we expected. 
Shipp possessed excellent good sense in dealing with 
cadets. He rather sympathized with our venial struggles 
to provide ourselves with ammunition, and did not punish 
us severely, but warned us against fetching fire into bar- 
racks. Shafer, the cadet officer, who might have made it 
go hard with my foeman and myself, saw him, told him 
he was wrong, made him come and apologize to me, and 
after that he and I were good friends. And last, but 
not least, little Rat Logan, whose pretty sister I had vis- 
ited in their home at " Dungenness " upon the James, 
memory of whose charms had probably made me take his 
part, came grinning around to our quarters to tell us he 
had a box from home. He said it was poor pay for the 
punishment I had got in his behalf. I suggested that he 
invite my antagonist also ; but he swore he should not 
have as much as a wishbone from his turkey. We made 
short shrift of Logan's box. With bayonets we ripped 
it open. Its stores of turkey, ham, biscuits, pickles, pre- 
serves, and what not were soon spread before us. 

The best simile descriptive of cadets around a box 
from home is that of feeding a kennel of hounds. With 
undisguised impatience they watch the display of food. 



284 THE END OF AN ERA 

With frank gluttony they fall upon it. With pop-eyed 
satiety they turn away only when all is consumed. And 
then they lie about in seuii-comatose condition, refusing- 
to attend meals until nature relieves itself of overloading. 
Another piece of good luck was in store for me. I had 
kept the pledge about demerits, and stood well at the Jan- 
uary intermediate examinations. One evening at dress 
parade, I had the unsi)eakable joy of hearing myself an- 
nounced as a corporal, " vice Vaughan, resigned." Those 
chevrons were very stimulating. I even remembered that 
Napoleon had once been a corporal. 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE MOST GLOKIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 

In the spring of 18G4, 1 was still a cadet at the Virginia 
Military lustitnte. ''Unrest" is the word to describe 
the feeling- pervading the school. 

Rosser's brigade had wintered in Rockbridge, but a few 
miles from the Institute. Lexington and the Institute 
were constantly visited by Rosser, his staff, and the offi- 
cers of his brigade. They brought us in touch with the 
war, and tlie world beyond, more than anything else we 
had seen. They jangled their spurs through the arch- 
way, laughed loudly in the officers' quarters, and rode off 
as if they carried the world in a sling. In INIarch, they 
broke camp, and came ambling, trotting, galloping, pran- 
cing past the Institute, their mounted band playing, 
their little guidons Huttering, bound once more to active 
duty in the lower valley. Before their departure. General 
Rosser presented a captured flag to the corps of cadets. 
His escort on the occasion was decked with leaves of 
mountain laurel, the evergreen badge which the brigade 
had adopted. We felt ashamed of having flags captured 
for us by others. When the Laurel Brigade took its de- 
parture, many a cadet followed it longingly with eyes and 
heart. 

Then, too, we heard that Grant had been transferred to 
command in the East ; and we all knew that there would 
be great fighting at the front. Many cadets resigned. 
Good boys became bad boys for the express purpose of 



286 THE END OF AN ERA 

getting " shipped," parents and guardians having refused 
to permit them to resign. 

The stage-coaches for the railroad stations at Goshen 
and Staunton stopped at the sallyport on nearly every 
trip to take on cadets departing for the front. 

Many a night, sauntering back and forth on the sentry- 
beat in front of barracks, catching the sounds of loud talk 
and laughter from the officers' quarters, or pondering upon 
the last joyous squad of cadets who had scrambled to the 
top of the departing stage, my heart longed for the camp, 
and I wondered if my time would ever come. I was now 
over seventeen, and it did seem to me that I was old 
enough. 

The proverb saith, " All things come to him who waits." 

It was the 10th of May. 

Nature bedecked herself that springtime in her loveliest 
garb. Battalion drill had begun early, and the corps had 
never been more proficient at this season of the year. 

The parade ground was firm and green. The trees 
were clothed in the full livery of fresh foliage. The sun 
shone on us through pellucid air, and the light breath of 
May kissed and fluttered our white colors, which were 
adorned with the face of Washington. 

After going through the manffiuvres of battalion drill, 
the corps was drawn up, near sundown, for dress parade. 
It was the time of year when townsfolk drove- down, and 
ranged themselves upon the avenue to witness our brave 
display ; and groups of girls in filmy garments set off with 
bits of color came tripping across the sod ; and children 
and niirses sat about the benches at the guard-tree. 

The battalion was put through the manual. The first 
sergeants reported. The adjutant read his orders. The 
fifes and drums played down the line in slow time, and 
came back with a jolly, rattling air. The officers ad- 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 287 

vanced to music and saluted. The sun sunk beyond the 
House Mountain. The evening gun boomed forth. The 
garrison flag fell lazily from its peak on the barracks' 
tower. The four companies went springing homeward at 
double time to the gayest tune the fifes knew how to play. 
Never in all its history looked Lexington more beautiful. 
Never did sense of secluded peacefulness rest more 
soothingly upon her population. In our leisure time after 
supper, the cadets strolled back and forth from barracks 
to the limits gate, and watched the full-orbed moon lift 
herseK over the mountains. Perfume was in the air, 
silence in the shadows. Well might we quote : — 

' ' How beautiful this night ! 
The balmiest sigh that vernal zephyrs breathe iu evening's ear 
Were discord to the speaking quietude 
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, 
Bestudded with stars unutterably bright, 
Through which the moon's unclouded 
Splendor rolls, seems like a canopy which 
Love hath spread, to shelter its 
Sleeping world." 

And SO, tranquil, composed by the delightful scenes 
around us, three hundred of us closed our eyes and passed 
into the happy dreams of youth in springtime. 

Hark ! the drums are beating. Their throbbing bounds 
through every corner of the barracks, saying to the 
sleepers, " Be up and doing." It is the long roll. 

Long roll had been beaten several times of late, some- 
times to catch absentees, and once for a fire in the town. 
Grumblingly the cadets hurried down to their places in 
the ranks, expecting to be soon dismissed and to return 
to their beds. A group of officers, intently scanning by 
the light of a lantern a paper held by the adjutant, stood 
near the statue of George Washington, opposite the arch. 
The companies were marched together. The adjutant 



288 THE END OF AN ERA 

commanded attention, and proceeded to read the orders in 
his hands. 

They announced that the enemy in heavy force was ad- 
vancing up the Shenandoah valley; that General Lee 
could not spare any forces to meet him ; that General 
Breckinridge had been ordered to assemble troojDS from 
southwestern Virginia and elsewhere at Staunton ; and 
that the cadets should join him there at the earliest prac- 
ticable moment. The corps was ordered to march, with 
four companies of infantry and a section of artillery, by 
the Staunton pike, at break of day. 

First sergeants were ordered to detail eight artillerists 
from each of the four companies, to rejaort for duty im- 
mediately, and man a section of artillery. 

As these orders were announced, not a sound was heard 
from the boys who stood there, with beating hearts, in the 
military posture of parade rest. 

" Parade 's dismissed," piped the adjutant. The ser- 
geants side-stepped us to our resjiective company parades. 

Methinks that even after thirty-three years I once more 
hear the gamecock voices of the sergeants detailing their 
artillery and ammunition squads, and ordering us to ap- 
pear with canteens, haversacks, and blankets at four A. M. 
Still silence reigned. Then, as company after company 
broke ranks, the air was rent with wild cheering at the 
thought that our hour was come at last. 

Elsewhere in the Confederacy, death, disaster, disap- 
pointment may have by this time chilled the ardor of 
our people, but here, in this little band of fledgelings, 
the hope of battle flamed as brightly as on the morning 
of Manassas. 

We breakfasted by candle-light, and filled our haver- 
sacks from the mess-hall tables. In the gray of morning, 
we wound down the hill to the river, tramped heavily 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 289 

across the bridge, ascended the pike beyond, cheered the 
fading turrets of the school ; and sunrise found us going 
at a four-mile gait to Staunton, our gallant little battery 
rumbling behind. 

We were every way fitted for this kind of work by our 
hard drilling, and marched into Staunton in the afternoon 
of the second day, showing little ill effects of travel. 

Staunton, small as it is, seemed large and cosmopolitan 
after our long confinement. As we marched past a female 
school, every window of which was filled with pretty girls, 
the fifes were laboring away at " The Girl I Left Behind 
Me." There was no need for the girls to cry, " Fie ! 
fie ! " at such a suggestion. Not one of us were thinking 
of the girls we left behind us. The girls we saw before 
us were altogether to our liking. 

We found a pleasant camping ground on the outskirts 
of the town, and thither the whole population flocked for 
inspection of the corps, and to witness dress parade, for 
our fame was widespread. The attention bestowed uj)on 
the cadets was enough to turn the heads of much humbler 
persons than ourselves. We were asked to visit nearly 
every house in town. 

Having an invitation to dine at the home of a friend, 
Louis and 1 waded in a creek to wash the mud off our 
shoes and trousers. With pocket-comb and glass we com- 
pleted our toilet in a fence-corner. Then we walked about 
until our garments were dry, and proceeded to meet our 
engagement. Everything goes in war time. 

At night, the town was hilarious. Several dances were 
arranged, and, as dancing was a cadet accomplishment, we 
were in our element. 

The adoration bestowed upon us by young girls dis- 
gusted the regular officers. Before our coming, they had 
had things all their own way. Now, they found that fierce 



290 THE END OF AN ERA 

mustaches and heavy cavalry boots must give place to the 
downy cheeks and merry, twinkling feet we brought from 
Lexington. A big blonde captain, who was wearing a 
stunning bunch of gilt aiguillettes, looked as if he would 
snap my head off when I trotted up and whisked his 
partner away from him. They could not and would not 
understand why girls preferred these little, untitled whij)- 
persnappers to officers of distinction. Veterans forgot 
that youth loves youth. 

Doubtless some feeling of this sort prompted the band 
of a regiment of grimy veterans to strike up " Rock-a-bye, 
Baby," when the cadets marched by them. Quick as sol- 
diers' love of fun, the men took up the air, accompanying 
it by rocking their gims in their arms as if putting them 
to sleep. It produced a perfect roar of amusement with 
everybody but ourselves. We were furious. 

All this on the eve of a battle ? Yes, of course. Why 
not ? To be sure, everybody knew there was going to be a 
fight. That was what we came for. But nobody among 
us knew or cared just when or where it was coming off. 
Life is too full of trouble for petty officers or privates, or 
young girls, to bother themselves hunting up such dis- 
agreeable details in advance. That was the business of 
generals. They were to have all the glory ; and so we 
were willing they should have all the solicitude, anxiety, 
and preoccupation. 

At dress parade. May 12, orders were read for the move- 
ment of the army down the valley the following morning. 
We always moved on time. Now, who would have be- 
lieved that a number of girls were up to see us off, or that 
two or three were crying? Yet it was so. And quick 
work of the naked boy with the cross-bow I call that. 

As we passed some slaughter-pens on the outskirts, an 
old Irish butcher, in his shirt sleeves, hung over his gate. 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 291 

pipe in mouth. With a twinkle in his eye he watched 
the corps go by, at last exclaiming, " Begorra, an' it 's no 
purtier dhrove av pigs hev passed this gate since this 
hog-killing began." 

We made a good day's march, and camped that night 
near Harrisonburg. During the day, we met several 
couriers bearing dispatches ; they reported the enemy 
advancing in heavy force, and had left him near Stras- 
burg and Woodstock. 

Pressing on through Harrisonburg, which we reached 
early in the morning, we camped the second night at 
Lacy's Springs, in Shenandoah ; rain had set in, but the 
boys stood up well to their work, and but few lame-ducks 
had succumbed. 

Evidences of the approach of the enemy multiplied 
on the second day. We passed a great many vehicles 
coming up the valley with people and farm products and 
household effects, and a number of herds of cattle and 
other livestock, all escaping from the Union troops ; 
now and then a weary or wounded cavalryman came by. 
Their reports were that Sigel's steady advance was only 
delayed by a thin line of cavalry skirmishers, who had 
been ordered to retard him as best they coidd until 
Breckinridge could march his army down to meet him. 

Towards evening, we came to a stone church and spring, 
where a cavalry detail with a squad of Union prisoners 
were resting ; the prisoners were a gross, surly-looking 
lot of Germans, who could not speak English. They 
evidently could not make us out ; they watched us with 
manifest curiosity, and talked in unintelligible, guttural 
sounds among themselves. 

When we reached camp, the rain had stopped and the 
clouds had lifted, but everything was wet and gummy. 
To add to my disgust, I was detailed as corporal of the 



292 THE END OF AN ERA 

guard, which meant loss of sleep at night, and a lone- 
some time next day with the wagons in rear of the corps. 

Looking down the valley, as evening closed in, we could 
see a line of bivouac fires, and were uncertain whether 
they were lit by our own pickets or by the enemy. At 
any rate, we were getting sufficiently near to the gentle- 
men for whom we were seeking to feel reasonably cer- 
tain we should meet them. 

Night closed in upon us ; for a little while the wood- 
land resounded with the axe-stroke, or the cheery halloos 
of the men from camp-fire to camp-fire ; for a while the 
fire-lights danced, the air laden with the odor of cooking 
food ; for a while the boys stood around the camp-fires 
for warmth and to dry their wet clothing ; but soon all 
had wrapped their blankets around them and laid down 
in silence, unbroken save by the champing of the colo- 
nel's horse upon his provender, or the fall of a passing 
shower. 

I was on duty as corporal of the guard ; a sentry stood 
post near the pike ; the remainder of the guard and the 
musicians were stretched before the watch-fire asleep. It 
was my part to remain awake, and a very lonesome, cheer- 
less task it was, sitting there in the darkness, under the 
dancing shadows of the wide-spreading trees, watching the 
fagots flame up and die out, speculating upon the events 
of the morrow. 

An hour past midnight, the sound of hoofs upon the 
pike caught my ear, and in a few moments the challenge 
of the sentry summoned me. The newcomer was an 
aid-de-camp, bearing orders for Colonel Shipp from the 
commanding general. When I aroused the commandant, 
he struggled up, rubbed his eyes, muttered something 
about moving at once, and ordered me to arouse the 
camp without having the drums beaten. Orders to fall 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 293 

in were promptly given, rolls were rattled off, the battal- 
ion was formed, and we debouched upon the pike, head- 
ing in the darkness and mud for Newmarket. 

Before the command to march was given, a thing 
occurred which made a deep impression upon us all, — a 
thing which even now may be a solace to those whose 
boys died so gloriously that day. In the gloom of the 
night. Captain Frank Preston, neither afraid nor ashamed 
to pray, sent up an appeal to God for his protection of 
our little band : it was a humble, earnest petition, that sunk 
into the heart of every hearer. Few were the dry eyes, 
little the frivolity, when he had ceased to speak of home, 
of father, of mother, of country, of victory and defeat, 
of life, of death, of eternity. Captain Preston had been 
an officer in Stonewall Jackson's command ; had lost an 
arm at Winchester ; was on the retired list ; and was sub- 
professor of Latin, and tactical officer of B Company : 
he was a typical Valley Presbyterian. Those who, a few 
hours later, saw him commanding his company in the 
thickest of the fight, his already empty sleeve attesting 
that he was no stranger to the perilous edge of battle, 
realized fully the beauty of the lines which tell that " the 
bravest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring." 

Day broke gray and gloomy upon us toiling onward in 
the mud. The sober course of our reflections was relieved 
by the light-heartedness of the veterans. We overtook 
Wharton's Brigade, with smiling " Old Gabe," a Vir- 
ginia Military Institute boy, at their head. They were 
squatting by the roadside, cooking breakfast, as we came 
up. With many good-natured gibes they restored our 
confidence ; they seemed as merry, nonchalant, and indif- 
ferent to the coming fight as if it were their daily occupa- 
tion. A tall, round-shouldered fellow, whose legs seemed 
almost split up to his shoulder-blades, came among us 



294 THE END OF AN ERA 

with a pair of shears and a pack of playing cards, offer- 
ing to take our names and cut off love -locks to be sent 
home after we were dead; another inquired if we wanted 
rosewood coffins, satin-lined, with name and age on the 
plate. In a word, they made us ashamed of the depress- 
ing solemnity of our last six miles of marching, and 
renewed within our breasts the true dare-devil sjjirit of 
soldiery. 

Resuming the march, the mile-posts numbered four, 
three, two, one mile to Newmarket ; then the mounted 
skirmishers hurried past us to their position at the front. 
We heard loud cheering at the rear, which was caught 
up by the troops along the line of march. We learned 
its import as General John C. Breckinridge and staff 
approached, and we joined heartily in the cheering as 
that soldierly man, mounted magnificently, galloped past, 
uncovered, bowing, and riding like a Cid. It is impos- 
sible to exaggerate the gallant appearance of General 
Breckinridge. In stature he was considerably over six 
feet high. He sat his blood-bay thoroughbred as if he had 
been born on horseback ; his head was of noble mould, 
and a piercing eye and a long, dark, drooping mustache 
completed a faultless military presence. 

Deployed along the crest of an elevation in our front, 
we could see our line of mounted pickets and the smoul- 
dering fires of their last night's bivouac. We halted at 
a point where passing a slight turn in the road would 
bring us in full view of the position of the enemy. 
Echols's and Wharton's brigades hurried past us ; this 
time there was not much bantering between us. " For- 
ward ! " was the word once more, and, turning the point 
in the road, Newmarket was in full view, and the whole 
position was displayed. 

At this point, a bold range of hills on the left parallel 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 295 

with the mountains divided the Shenandoah valley into 
two smaller valleys ; in the easternmost of these lies 
Newmarket. The valley pike on which we had advanced 
passes through the town parallel with the Massanunten 
Mountains on our right, and Smith's Creek, coursing 
along its base. The hills on our left, as they near the 
town, slope down to it from south and west, and swell 
beyond it to the west and north. Through this depres- 
sion from the town to the Shenandoah River in the 
western valley runs a transverse road with heavy stone 
walls. Between the pike by which we were advancing 
and the creek at the base of the mountains lies a beauti- 
ful strip of meadowland, extending to and beyond the 
village of Newmarket ; on these meadows, in the outskirts 
of the village, were orchards, where the enemy's skir- 
mishers were posted, his left wing being concealed in the 
village. The right wing of the enemy was posted behind 
the heavy stone fence in the road running westward from 
the town, parallel with our line of battle. Behind the 
infantry, on the slope of the rising ground, the Union 
artillery was posted : the ground rose behind this posi- 
tion until a short distance beyond the town ; to the left 
of the pike it spread out in an elevated plateau. The 
hillsides from this plateau to the pike were broken by 
several gullies, heavily wooded by scrub cedar. 

It was Sunday morning at eleven o'clock. In a pictur- 
esque little Lutheran churchyard, under the very shadow 
of the village spire and among the white tombstones, a 
six-gun battery was posted in rear of the infantry lines 
of the enemy. Firing over the heads of their own troops, 
that battery opened upon us the moment we came in 
sight. 

Away off to the right, in the Luray Gap, we could see 
our signal corps telegraphing the position and numbers of 



296 THE END OF AN ERA 

the enemy. Our cavalry was galloping to the cover of the 
creek to attempt to turn the enemy's left flank. Echols's 
brigade, moving from the pike at a double-quick by the 
right flank, went into line of battle across the meadow, 
its left resting on the pike. Simultaneously its skirmish- 
ers were thrown forward at a run and engaged the enemy. 
Out of the orchards and on the meadows, puff after puff 
of blue smoke rose as the sharpshooters advanced, the pop, 
pop, pop of their rifles ringing forth excitingly. Thun- 
dering down the pike came McLaughlin with his artillery. 
Wheeling out upon the meadows, he swung into battery, 
action left, and let fly with all his guns. 

The cadet section of artillery pressed down the pike a 
little farther, turned to the left, toiled up the slope in 
front of us, and, going into position, delivered a plunging 
fire in reply to the Federal battery in the graveyard. We 
counted it a good omen when, at the first discharge of 
our little guns, a beautiful blue-white wreath of smoke 
shot upward and hovered over them. The town, which 
a moment before had seemed to sleep so peacefully upon 
that Sabbath morning, was now wrapi^ed in battle smoke 
and swarming with troops hurrying to their position. 
We had their range beautifully. Every shell hit some 
obstruction, and exploded in the streets or on the hill- 
sides. Every man in our army was in sight. Every posi- 
tion of the enemy was plainly visible. His numbers were 
uncomfortably large ; for, notwithstanding his line of 
battle already formed seemed equal to our own, the pike 
beyond the town was still filled with his infantry. 

Our left wing consisted of Wharton's brigade ; our 
centre, of the 62d Virginia infantry and the cadet corps ; 
our right, of Echols's brigade and the cavalry. Until 
now, as corporal of the guard, I had remained in charge 
of the baggage-wagon with a detail of three men, — 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 297 

Kedwood, Stanard, and Woodlief. My orders were to 
remain with the wagons at the bend in the pike unless we 
were driven back. In that case, we were to retire to a 
point of safety. 

When it was clear that the battle was imminent, one 
thought took possession of me, and that was, if I sat on 
a baggage wagon while the corps of cadets was in its 
first, perhaps its only engagement, I should never be able 
to look my father in the face again. He was a grim old 
fighter, at that moment resisting the advance on Peters- 
burg, and holding the enemy in check until Lee's army 
could come up. I had annoyed him with importunities 
for permission to leave the Institute and enter the army. 
If, now that I had the opportunity to fight, I should fail 
to do so, I knew what was in store for me, for he had a 
tongue of satire and ridicule like a lash of scorpions. 

Napoleon in Egypt, pointing to the Pyramids, told his 
soldiers that from their heights forty centuries looked 
down upon them. The oration I delivered from the tail- 
board of a wagon was not so hyperbolical, but was equally 
emphatic. It ran about this wise : " Boys, the enemy is 
in our front. The corps is going into action. I like fight- 
ing no better than anybody else. But I have an enemy 
in my rear as dreadful as any before us. If I should re- 
turn home and tell my father that I was on the baggage 
guard when the cadets were in battle, I know what my 
fate would be. He would kill me with ridicule, which is 
worse than bullets. I intend to join the command at 
once. Any of you who think your duty requires you to 
remain may do so." 

All the guard followed. We left the wagon in charge 
of the black driver. Of the four who thus went, one was 
killed and two were wounded. We overtook the battalion 
as it deployed by the left flank from the pike. Moving 



298 THE END OF AN ERA 

at double-quick, we were in an instant in line of battle, 
our right resting near the turnpike. Rising ground in 
our immediate front concealed us from the enemy. 

The command was given to strip for action. Knap- 
sacks, blankets, — everything but guns, canteens, and car- 
tridge-boxes, was thrown upon the ground. Our boys 
were silent then. Every lip was tightly drawn, every 
cheek was pale, but not with fear. With a peculiar, ner- 
vous jerk, we pulled our cartridge-boxes round to the 
front, laid back the flaps, and tightened belts. Whistling 
rifled shells screamed over us, as, tipping the hill-crest iu 
our front, they bounded past. To our right, across the 
pike, Patton's brigade was lying down abreast of us. 

" At-ten-tion-n-n 1 Battalion forward ! Guide cen- 
ter-r-r ! " shouted Shipp, and up the slope we started. 
From the left of the line, Sergeant-Major Woodbridge 
ran out and posted himself forty paces in advance of the 
colors as directing guide, as if we had been upon the drill 
ground. That boy would have remained there, had not 
Shipp ordered him back to his post ; for this was no 
dress parade. Brave Evans, standing six feet two, shook 
out the colors that for days had hung limp and bedrag- 
gled about the staff, and every cadet leaped forward, 
dressing to the ensign, elate and thrdling with the con- 
sciousness that this was war. 

Moving uj) to the hill crest in our front, we were 
abreast of our smoking battery, and uncovered to the 
range of the enemy's guns. We were pressing towards 
him at " arras port," moving with the light trijjping gate 
of the French infantry. The enemy's veteran artillery 
soon obtained our range, and began to drop his shells 
under our very noses along the slope. Echols's brigade 
rose up, and was charging on our right with the well- 
known rebel yell. 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 299 

Down the green slope we went, answering the wild cry 
of our comrades as their muskets rattled out in opening 
volleys. " Double time ! " shouted Shipp, and we broke 
into a long trot. In another moment, a pelting rain of 
lead would fall upon us from the blue line in our front. 

Then came a sound more stunning than thunder. It 
burst directly in my face : lightnings leaped, fire flashed, 
the earth rocked, the sky whirled round. I stumbled, my 
gun pitched forward, and I fell upon my knees. Ser- 
geant Cabell looked back at me pityingly and called out, 
" Close up, men ! " as he passed on. I knew no more. 

When consciousness returned, the rain was falling in 
torrents. I was lying upon the ground, which all about 
was torn and ploughed with shell, and they were still 
screeching in the air and bounding on the earth. Poor 
little Captain Hill, the tactical officer of C Company, was 
lying near me bathed in blood, with a frightful gash over 
•the temple, and was gasping like a dying fish. Cadets 
Reed, Merritt, and another, whose name I forget, were 
near at hand, badly shot. The battalion was three hun- 
dred yards in advance of us, clouded in low-lying smoke 
and hotly engaged. They had crossed the lane which the 
enemy had held, and the Federal battery in the grave- 
yard had fallen back to the high ground beyond. " How 
came they there ? " I thought, " and why am I here ? " 
Then I found I was bleeding from a long and ugly gash 
in the head. That rifled shell, bursting in our faces, 
had brought down five of us. " Hurrah ! " I thought, 
" youth's dream is realized at last. I 've got a wound, 
and am not dead yet." 

Another moment found me on ray feet, trudging along 
to the hospital, almost whistling at thought that the next 
mail would carry the news to the folks at home, with a 
taunting suggestion that, after all the pains they had 



300 THE END OF AN ERA 

taken, they had been unable to keep me out of my share 
in the fun. From this time forth, I may speak of the 
gallant behavior of the cadets without the imputation of 
vanity, for I was no longer a participant in their glory. 

The fighting around the town was fierce and bloody on 
our left wing. On the right, the movements of Echols 
and Patton were very effective. They had pressed for- 
ward and gained the village, and our line was now eon- 
cave, with its angle just beyond the town. 

The Federal infantry had fallen back to the second 
line, and our left had now before it the task of ascending 
the slope to the crest of the hill where the enemy was 
posted. After pausing under the cover of the deep lane 
to breathe awhile and correct the alignment, our troops 
once more advanced, clambering up the bank and over 
the stone fence, at once delivering and receiving a wither- 
ing fire. 

At a point below -the town where the turnpike makes a 
bend, the cavalry of the enemy was massed. A momen- 
tary confusion on our right, as our troops pressed through 
the streets of Newmarket, gave invitation for a charge of 
the Union cavalry. They did not see McLaughlin's bat- 
tery, which had been moved up, unlimbered in the streets, 
and double-shotted with grape and canister. The enemy's 
cavalry dashed forward in column of platoons. Our 
infantry scrambled over the fences and gave the artillery 
a fair opportunity to rake them. They saw the trap too 
late ; they drew up and sought to wheel about. 

Heavens ! what a blizzard McLaughlin gave them ! 
They staggered, wheeled, and fled. The road was filled 
with fallen men and horses. A few riderless steeds came 
galloping towards our lines, neighed, circled, and rejoined 
their comrades. One daring fellow, whose horse became 
unmanageable, rode straight at our battery at full speed, 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 301 

passed beyond, behind, and around our line, and safely 
rejoined his comrades, cheered for his courage by his ene- 
mies. This was the end of the cavalry in that fight. 

Meanwhile, the troops upon our left performed their 
allotted task. Up the slope, right up to the second line 
of infantry, they went ; a second time the Federal troops 
were forced to retire. Wharton's brigade secured two 
guns of the battery, and the remaining four galloped back 
to a new position in a farmyard on the plateau, at the 
head of the cedar-skirted gully. Our boys had captured 
over one hundred prisoners. Charlie Faulkner, now the 
Senator from West Virginia, came back radiant in charge 
of twenty-three Germans large enough to swallow him, 
and insisted that he and Winder Garrett had captured 
them unaided. Bloody work had been done. The space 
between the enemy's old and new position was dotted with 
dead and wounded, shot as they retired across the open 
field ; but this same exposed ground now lay before, and 
must be crossed by our own men, under a galling fire 
from a strong and well-protected position. The distance 
was not great, but the ground to be traversed was a level 
green field of young wheat. 

Again the advance was ordered. Our boys responded 
with a cheer. Poor fellows ! They had already been put 
upon their mettle in two assaults, exhausted, wet to the 
skin, muddy to their eyebrows with the stiff clay ; some 
of them actually shoeless after struggling across the 
ploughed field : they, notwithstanding, advanced with tre- 
mendous earnestness, for the shout on our right advised 
them that the victory was being won. 

But the foe in our front was far from whipped. As 
the cadets came on with a dash, he stood his ground most 
courageously. The battery, now shotted with shrapnel 
and canister, opened upon the cadets with a murderous 



302 THE END OF AN ERA 

fire. The infantry, lying behind fence-rails piled upon 
the ground, poured in a steady, deadly volley. At one 
discharge, Cabell, first sergeant of D Company, by whose 
side I had marched for months, fell dead, and with him 
fell Crockett and Jones. A blanket would have covered 
the three. They were awfully mangled by the canister. 
A few steps further on, McDowell sank to his knees with 
a bullet through his heart. At will, Jefferson, and Wheel- 
wright were shot at this point. Sam Shriver, cadet cap- 
tain of C Company, had his sword arm broken by a minie 
ball. Thus C Company lost her cadet as well as her pro- 
fessor captain. 

The men were falling right and left. The veterans on 
the right of the cadets seemed to waver. Colonel Shipp 
went down. For the first time, the cadets appeared irre- 
solute. Some one cried out, " Lie down ! " and all obeyed, 
firing from the knee, — all but Evans, the ensign, who 
was standing bolt upright, shouting and waving the flag. 
Some one exclaimed, " Fall back and rally on Edgar's 
battalion ! " Several boys moved as if to obey. Pizzini, 
first sergeant of B Company, with his Corsican blood at 
the boiling point, cocked his rifle and proclaimed that he 
would shoot the first man who ran. Preston, brave and 
inspiring, in command of B Company, smilingly lay down 
upon his remaining arm with the remark that he would at 
least save that. Colonna, cadet captain of D, was speak- 
ing low to the men of his company with words of encour- 
agement, and bidding them shoot close. The corps was 
being decimated. 

Manifestly, they must charge or fall back. And charge 
it M'as ; for at that moment Henry Wise, " Old Chinook," 
beloved of every boy in the command, sprang to his feet, 
shouted out the command to rise up and charge, and, 
moving in advance of the line, led the cadet corps forward 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 303 

to the guns. The battery was being served superbly. The 
musketry fairly rolled, but the cadets never faltered. 
They reached the firm greensward of the farmyard in 
which the guns were planted. The Federal infantry 
began to break and run behind the buildings. Before the 
order to limber up could be obeyed by the artillerymen, 
the cadets disabled the teams, and were close upon the 
guns. The gunners dropped their sponges, and sought 
safety in flight. Lieutenant Hannah hammered a gunner 
over the head with his cadet sword. Winder Garret out- 
ran another and lunged his bayonet into him. The boys 
leaped upon the guns, and the battery was theirs. Evans, 
the color-sergeant, stood wildly waving the cadet colors 
from the top of a caisson. 

A straggling fire of infantry was still kept up from the 
gully now on our right flank, notwithstanding the masses 
of blue retiring in confusion down the hill. The battal- 
ion was ordered to reform, mark time, and half wheel to 
the right ; then it advanced, firing into the cedars as it 
went, and did not pause again until it reached the pike, 
having driven the last of the enemy from the thicket. 
The broken columns of the enemy could be seen hurrying 
over the hills and down the pike towards Mount Jackson, 
hotly pressed by our infantry and cavalry. Our artillery 
galloped to Rude's Hill, whence it shelled the flying foe 
until they passed beyond the burning bridge that spanned 
the Shenandoah at Mount Jackson. 

We had won a victory, — not a Manassas or an Appo- 
mattox, but, for all that, a right comforting bit of news 
went up the pike that night to General Lee, whose 
thoughts, doubtless, from where he lay locked in the 
death-grapple with Grant in the Wilderness, turned wea- 
rily and anxiously towards this attempted flank movement 
in the valley. 



304 THE END OF AN ERA 

The pursuit down the pike was more like a foot-race 
than a march ; our fellows straggled badly ; everybody 
realized that the fight was over, and many were too ex- 
hausted to proceed farther. 

As evening fell, the clouds passed away, the sun came \, 
forth ; and, when night closed in, no sound disturbed the 
Sabbath calm save that of a solitary Napoleon gun 
pounding away at the smouldering ruins of the bridge. 
Our picket-fires were lit that night at beautiful Mount 
Airy, while the main body of our troops bivouacked on 
the pike, a mile below Newmarket. Out of a corps of 
225 men, we had lost fifty-six, killed and wounded. 
Strange to say, but one man of the artillery detail re- 
ceived a wound. Shortly before sundown, after having 
my head sewed up and bandaged, and having rendered 
such service as I could to wounded comrades, I sallied 
forth to procure a blanket and see what was to be seen. 
When we stripped for action, we left our traps unguarded; 
nobody would consent to be detailed. As a result, the 
camp-followers had made away with nearly all of our 
blankets. 

I entered the town, and found it fiUed with soldiers, 
laughing and carousing as light-heartedly as if it was a 
feast or a holiday. In a side street, a great throng of 
Federal prisoners was corralled ; they were nearly all 
Germans. Every type of prisoner was there ; some cheer- 
ful, some defiant, some careless, some calm and dejected. 
One fellow in particular afforded great merriment by his 
quaint recital of the manner of his capture. Said he, 
" Dem leetle tevils mit der vite vlag vas doo mutch fur 
us ; dey shoost smash mine head ven I was cry zurrender 
all de dime." A loud peal of laughter went up from the 
bystanders, among whom I recognized several cadets. 
His allusion to the white flas: was to our colors. We 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 305 

had a handsome corps flag, with a white and gold ground 
and a picture of Washington ; it disconcerted our adver- 
saries not a little. Several, whom I have met since then, 
tell me that they could not make us out at all, as our 
strange colors, diminutive size, and unusual precision of 
movement made them think we must be some foreisrn 
mercenary regulars. 

While standing there, my old partner Louis came run- 
ning up, exclaiming, " Holloa ! Golly, I am glad it is no 
worse ; they said your head was knocked off." Then he 
held up his bandaged forearm, in which he had a pretty 
little wound. " Say, are you hungry ? There is an old 
lady round here on the back street just shoveling out 
pies and things to the soldiers." 

Louis and I were both good foragers, so away we scam- 
pered, and relieved the dear old soul of a few more of 
her apparently inexhaustible supply. Then we started off 
to hunt up Henry. We had a good joke on him, but 
were afraid to tell it to him. Several of the cadets de- 
clared that, notwithstanding his piety, he had at the 
pinch in the wheatfield, when he ordered the charge, so 
far forgotten himself that he used some very plain old 
English expletives, as in days of yore. When we ventured 
to suggest it, he grew indignant, and he was such a se- 
rious fellow that we were afraid to press him about it ; 
when we found him, he gave us lots of sport. He was very 
tall and very thin. He had gone into action wearing the 
long-tailed coat of a Confederate captain. In the last 
charge, an unexploded canister had literally carried away 
his hind coat-tails and the pipe and tobacco in the pockets, 
without touching him. Probably he was so close to the 
guns that the bands of the canister had not burst when 
it passed him. However this may have been, when we 
found him, his coat-tails were hanging in short shreds 



306 THE END OF AN ERA 

behind, while in front they were intact. He was invohin- 
tarily feeling behind him, bemoaning the loss of his pipe 
and tobacco, and looked like a Shanghai rooster with his 
tail-feathers pulled out. 

The jeers and banterings of the veterans had now 
ceased ; we had fairly won our spurs. We could mingle 
with them fraternally and discuss the battle on equal 
terms : glorious fellows those veterans were. To them 
was due ninety-nine one-hundredths of the glory of the 
victory, yet they seemed to delight in giving all praise to 
" dem leetle tevils mit der vite vlag." The ladies of the 
place also overwhelmed us with tenderness, and as for 
ourselves, we drank in greedily the praise which made us 
the lions of the hour. 

Leaving the village, we sought the plateau where most 
of our losses had occurred. A little above the town, in 
the fatal wheatfield, we came upon the dead bodies of 
three cadets ; one wearing the chevrons of a first sergeant 
lay upon his face, stiff and stark, with outstretched arms. 
His hands had clutched and torn up great tufts of soil 
and grass. His lips were retracted ; his teeth tightly 
locked; his face as hard as flint, with staring, glassy 
eyes. It was difficult indeed to recognize that this was 
all that remained of Cabell, who a few hours before had 
stood first in his class, second as a soldier, and the peer 
of any boy in the command in every trait of physical and 
moral manliness. A short distance removed from the 
spot where Cabell fell, and nearer to the position of the 
enemy, lay McDowell. It was a sight to rend one's 
heart ! That little fellow was lying there asleep, more 
fit indeed for a cradle than a grave; he was about my 
own age, not large, and by no means robust. He was a 
North Carolinian ; he had torn open his jacket and shirt, 
and even in death, lay clutching them back, exposing a 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 307 

fail", white breast with its red wound. We had come too 
late : Stanard had breathed his last but a few moments 
before we reached the old farmhouse where the battery 
had stood, now used as a hospital. His body was still 
warm, and his last messages had been words of love to his 
room-mates. Poor Jack, — playmate, room-mate, friend, 
— farewell ! Standing there, my mind sped back to the 
old scenes at Lexington when we were shooting together 
in the brushy hills ; to our games and sports ; to the 
night we had gone to see him kneel at the chancel for 
confirmation ; to the previous night at the guard-fire, 
when he confessed to a presentiment that he would be 
killed ; to his wistful, earnest farewell when we parted at 
the baggage-wagon that morning ; and my heart half 
reproached me for my part in drawing him into the fight. 
The warm tears of youthful friendship came welling up 
to the eyes of both of us for one we had learned to love 
as a brother ; and now, thirty-four years later, I thank 
God life's buffetings and the cold-heartedness of later 
struggles have not yet diminished the pure evidence of 
boyhood's friendship. A truer-hearted, braver, better fel- 
low never lived than Jacquelin B. Stanard. 

A few of us brought up a limber chest, thi'ew our dead 
across it, and bore their remains to a deserted storehouse 
in the village. The next day, we buried them with the 
honors of war, bowed down with grief at a victory so 
dearly bought. 

The day following that, we started on our return march 
up the valley, crestfallen and dejected. The joy of vic- 
tory was forgotten in distress for the friends and. com- 
rades dead and maimed. We were still young in the 
ghastly game, but we proved apt scholars. 

On our march up the valley, we were not hailed as sor- 
rowing friends, but greeted as heroes and victors. At 



308 THE END OF AN ERA 

Harrisonburg, Staunton, Charlottesville, — everywhere, 
an ovation awaited us such as we had not dreamed of, 
and such as has seldom greeted any troops. The dead and 
the poor fellows still tossing on cots of fever and delirium 
were almost forgotten by the selfish comrades whose 
fame their blood had bought. We were ordered to Rich- 
mond : all our sadness disappeared. What mattered it 
to us that we were packed into freight-cars ? it was great 
sport riding on the tops of the cars. We were side- 
tracked at Ashland, and there, lying on the ground by 
the side of us, was Stonewall Jackson's division. We 
had heard of them, and looked upon them as the greatest 
soldiers that ever went into battle. What flattered us 
most was that they had heard of us. 

While waiting at Ashland, a very distinguished-looking 
surgeon entered the car, inquiring for some cadet. He 
was just returning from the battlefield of Spotsylvania. 
I heard with absorbed interest his account of the terrible 
carnage there ; and when he said he had seen a small tree 
within the " bloody angle " cut down by bullets, I turned 
to Louis and said, " I think that old fellow is drawing 
a longbow." The person speaking was Dr. Charles Mc- 
Gill. I afterwards learned that what he said was liter- 
ally true. 

At the very time when we were lying there at Ashland, 
the armies of Grant and Lee, moving by the flank, were 
passing the one all about us, the other within a few miles 
of us, from the battlefields of Spotsylvania Court House 
and Milford Station to their ghastly field of second Cold 
Harbor. We could distinctly hear the firing in our 
front. We reached Richmond that afternoon, and were 
quartered in one of the buildings of the Fair Grounds, 
known as Camp Lee. It is impossible to describe the 
enthusiasm with which we were received. 



THE MOST GLORIOUS DAY OF MY LIFE 309 

A week after the battle of Newmarket, the cadet corps, 
garlanded, cheered by ten thousand throats, intoxicated 
with praise unstinted, wheeled proudly around the Wash- 
ington monument at Richmond, to pass in review before 
the President of the Confederate States, to hear a speech 
of commendation from his lips, and to receive a stand of 
colors from the Governor of Virginia. 

No wonder that our band, as we marched back to our 
quarters, played lustily : *- 

" There 's not a trade that 's going 
Worth showing or knowing, 
Like that from glory growing 
For the bowld soldier boy. 
For to right or left you go, 
Sure you know, friend or foe, 
He is bound to be a beau, 
Your bowld soldier boy." 



CHAPTER XX 

THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 

After a few days in Kichraond, the cadets were 
ordered back to Lexington. We resumed academic 
duties promptly, and were just beginning to settle down 
to hard work, when General Hunter advanced up the 
valley of the Shenandoah, unopposed save by a small 
cavalry force under General McCausland. 

McCausland was another Virginia Military Institute 
graduate. " Well," said we, when we heard the news, 
" we '11 have to whip 'em again." But this time the story 
was to be very different from the last. Following almost 
immediately upon the heels of the first announcement 
came the alarming statement that Hunter had reached 
Staunton, but thirty-six miles to the north of us ; and 
the next day we were advised that he had not paused in 
Staunton, but pressed on, and that his advance was skir- 
mishing with McCausland at Midway, but twelve miles 
from Lexington. 

Resistance to a force like Hunter's being out of the 
question, we were ordered to prepare for the evacuation 
of Lexington. A detail of sappers was sent forthwith to 
the bridge across the North River, with directions to load 
it with bales of hay saturated with turpentine, leaving 
space just sufficient for the passage of McCausland's 
retreating' forces. We were kept under arms all night. 
Before sunrise, the main body of our troops came stream- 
ing down the hills across the river ; and, half a mile be- 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 311 

hind them, their rear guard emerged from the woods along 
the hill-tops, skirmishing with, and hotly pressed by, the 
enemy. At the river, after crossing the bridge, McCaus- 
land deployed a force upon the bluffs above and below 
the bridge, to cover the crossing of his rear guard. 

The rear guard, called in, rallied at a run to the bridge ; 
and the Union skirmishers, emboldened by their quick 
movements, dashed after them down the hills. Coming 
too near to the force behind the bluffs, they were com- 
pelled to retreat under a heavy fire upon Hunter's ad- 
vance guard, which was now coming up. A battery of 
Union artillery, under Captain Henry Du Pont, galloped 
out upon the hills overlooking Lexington from the north 
side of the river, and opened fire upon the Institute. A 
section of McCausland's artillery came up, after crossing 
the bridge, and took position at the northeast corner of 
the parade ground to respond to Du Pont. As soon as 
our troops were across the bridge, it was fired, and a fine 
column of black smoke rolled heavenward. Our sappers, 
their task performed, hurried back at double time to re- 
join their respective companies. Along the pike in the 
valley in front of the Institute, the cavaliy, weary and 
depressed, was retiring to the town. 

The whole panorama, front and rear, was visible from 
the Institute grounds, and made a very pretty war scene. 

When the Union battery opened, the corps was drawn 
up in front of barracks awaiting orders. It was, of course, 
invisible to the enemy from his position directly in rear 
of barracks. If his guns had been aimed at the centre of 
the building, his shells would have exploded in our midst. 
But the massive parts were at the corners, where the 
towers were grouped, and thither the fire was directed. 
The first shell that struck crashed in the hall of the So- 
ciety of Cadets, sending down showers of brickbats and 



312 THE END OF AN ERA 

plaster when it exploded. Thereupon we were ordered to 
pass over the parapet in front of barracks, and thence 
were marched westward until clear of the building, so as 
to avoid the splinters and debris. It was very well, for 
while several of his guns turned their attention to our 
section of artillery on the parade ground. Captain Harry 
filled the air with fragments as he pounded away at our 
quarterso 

In our new position under the parapet, about opposite 
the guard-tree, although fully protected, we were nearly 
in the line of fire of the shots directed at our battery. A 
number of shells struck the parade ground, some explod- 
ing there, and others ricocheting over our heads. 

Soon after this we marched away. As we were leaving, 
the artillery was limbering up, and the only force oppos- 
ing the entrance of the enemy was the thin line of skir- 
mishers on the river bluffs. 

With heavy hearts we passed through the town, bidding 
adieu to such of its residents al we had known in happier 
days. Our route was southward to Balcony Falls, which 
we reached late that evening. At a high point, probably 
five miles south of Lexington, we came in full sight of 
our old home. The day was bright and clear, and we saw 
the towers and turrets of the barracks, mess-hall, and pro- 
fessors' houses in full blaze, sending up great masses of 
flame and smoke. The only building on the entire re- 
servation not destroyed by fire was the residence of Gen- 
eral Smith. His daughter was very ill, and as the physi- 
cians declared it would cost her life to remove her, the 
house was spared through the intercession of Colonel 
Du Pont. 

No words could describe our feelings as we rested on 
the roadside, and watched the conflagration. The jilace 
was endeared by a thousand memories, but above all other 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 313 

thoughts, it galled and mortified us that we had been 
compelled to abandon it without firing a shot. 

Thinking- that the enemy might follow us and attempt 
to reach Lynchburg through the pass at Balcony Falls, 
our commandant determined, if that should prove to be 
the purpose of General Hunter, to offer resistance there, 
for it was a very defensible position. Accordingly, upon 
reaching Balcony Falls, pickets were posted, the corps 
was deployed along the mountain side, and we were held 
ready for a fight all that night and until late in the fol- 
lowing day. Then we ascertained that General Hunter 
had passed on up the valley to the approaches of Lynch- 
burg by way of the Peaks of Otter. We impressed a 
canal-boat, and resumed our journey to Lynchburg, reach- 
ing there some hours in advance of the enemy. On our 
arrival, Early's division was pouring into the town, having 
just arrived by rail from Petersburg. It was hurried 
forward to the fortifications in the outskirts. 

We remained in the streets of the town several hours, 
awaiting orders, and were finally sent to the front in 
reserve. 

Our position was in a graveyard. The afternoon we 
spent there, sitting upon graves and among tombstones in 
a cold, drizzling rain, was anything but cheerful. 

The enemy, unaware of the presence of Early's division, 
advanced to a brisk attack with infantry and artillery. 
Although he was roughly handled, the assault continued 
until dark, and he had pressed up very close to a salient 
in our front, at a point near the present residence of Mr. 
John Lang-horne. A renewal of the attack on the follow- 
ing morning was confidently expected. About ten o'clock 
that night, orders came for the cadets to move to the front 
to relieve the troops in the salient, who had been fighting 
since midday. 



314 THE END OF AN ERA 

When the corps was formed in line, Colonel Shipp, in 
low tones, explained the nature of the service, and tin* 
importance of silence. We were warned not to speak, 
and, as the night was very black, each man was instructed 
to place his left hand upon the cartridge-box of the man 
in front of him, so as to keep distance and alignment. 
Thus formed, we proceeded to the bastion, and entered it 
in gloomy silence. The troops occupying it were drawn 
up as we entered, and glided out after we were in, like the 
shadows of darkness. 

The place was horrible. The fort was new, and con- 
structed of stiff red clay. The rain had wet the soil, and 
the feet of the men who had been there had kneaded the 
mud into dough. There was no place to lie down. All 
that a man could do was to sit plump down in the mud, 
upon the low banquette, with his gun across his lap. I 
could not resist peeping over the parapet, and there, but 
a short distance from us, in a little valley, were the smoul- 
dering camp-fires of the enemy. Wrajjping my blanket 
about me, its ends tucked under me, so as to keep out the 
moisture from the red clay as much as possible, I fell 
asleep, hugging my rifle, never doubting that there would 
be work for both of us at daybreak. 

I must have slept soundly, for when I awoke it was 
broad daylight. The men were beginning to talk aloud, 
and several were exposing themselves freely. No enemy 
appeared in our front. He was gone. Hunter, discov- 
ering that he was overmatched, had retired during the 
night, and was now in full retreat. 

Lexington was now accessible to us once more, and 
thither we proceeded in a day or two. 

On our return to Lexington, we temporarily quartered 
in Washington College. Nothing worth having was left 
of the Virginia Military Institute. The scene was one of 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 315 

such complete desolation, and so depressing, that I avoided 
it as much as possible. 

We were furloughed until September 1, and ordered to 
report at that time at the almshouse in Richmond. 

This apparently absurd announcement was another illus- 
tration of the resourcefulness of General Smith. The city 
of Richmond had a very fine almshouse, but at this period 
of the war all our people were paupers, and the city could 
not maintain the almshouse. Knowing this, General 
Smith had opened telegraphic correspondence from Lynch- 
burg with the Richmond authorities, and secured the place 
free of rent. 

For myself, I now saw a chance of entering the service, 
and had no idea of going to live in an almshouse. My 
objective point was Petersburg, where my father's brigade 
was stationed. He was in command of the city, having 
been engaged with the enemy almost daily since his arrival 
from South Carolina in May. Against overwhelming 
odds, Beauregard had held the place until the arrival of 
General Lee. 

It was about sundown on the 22d of June, 1864, that our 
train from Richmond stojDped in a deep cut about a mile 
from Petersburg. We could not safely approach nearer 
to the city. When General " Baldy " Smith, with 22,000 
men, attacked my father with 2200 men on the 15th of 
June, he captured several redoubts, numbered from 5 to 9, 
near the Appomattox River, just below Petersburg. From 
these, with his siege-guns, he could shell the town, and 
particularly the railroad depot and the Pocahontas Bridge 
near by across the Appomattox. As a consequence, the 
trains stopped at a point of safety, whence passengers 
could take a back route to the town, or go by way of the 
railroad without attracting attention. The disagreeable 
persons at the captured batteries soon ascertained the rail- 



316 THE END OF AN ERA 

road schedules, and shelled the vicinity of the depot about 
train time. 

Soldiers had become accustomed to shells, and did not 
fear them much ; so our party, consisting of several mem- 
bers of my father's brigade, followed the short route, not- 
withstanding quite a lively artillery fire. We crossed the 
bridge at Pocahontas without incident. The firing seemed 
directed higher up town. Passing on to Bolingbroke 
Street, we saw evidences of recent damage in a great hole 
made by a shell in the Bolingbroke Hotel, but a few 
moments before, and a dead man was lying on the curb- 
stone near where the shell had exploded. Turning into 
Bolingbroke Street, which ran nearly parallel with the line 
of fire from Battery 5, two heavy shells went screaming 
over our heads, and burst near where Bolingbroke Street 
terminates in Sycamore Street. It was a decided relief 
when we reached the latter, and struck off at right angles 
from the range of those guns. The official headquarters 
were in the court house, which, while it was in the line of 
fire, was protected by heavy masses of intervening build- 
ings. Thither we repaired, but found they were closed 
for the day. 

The appearance of the town was exceedingly depress- 
ing. The streets were almost deserted, and the destructive 
work of the shells was visible on every hand. Here a 
chimney was knocked off ; here a handsome residence was 
deserted, with great rents in its walls, and the windows 
shattered by explosion ; here stood a church tower muti- 
lated, the churchyard filled with new-made graves. As 
we moved onward, one of our party pointed to where 
Colonel Page of our brigade was buried. He had been 
killed but a week before, and was buried near the front 
door of a church, within three feet of the sidewalk. On 
the court-house steps a group of dirty soldiers were gath- 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 317 

ered about a poor little half-starved white girl, who sat 
singing. She had an attractive face, with large, wistful 
eyes, and a sweet child-voice. When she sang, her whole 
soul was in her song, which seemed to be highly appre- 
ciated by the soldiers. They joined in the chorus after 
each verse. I remember the name of the song, the first 
verse, and the chorus, although I never heard them before 
or since. It was called " Loula," and ran as follows : — 

" With a heart forsaken I wander 
In silence, in grief, and alone ; 
On a form departed I ponder, 
For Loula, sweet Loula, is gone. 

CHORUS. 

" Gone where the roses have faded, 
Gone where the meadows are bare, 
To a land by orange-blossoms shaded. 
Where summer ever lingers in the air." 

The soldiers seemed deeply touched by the plaintive 
melody, and joined with genuine feeling in the mournful 
chorus. Its sadness was in accord with their own desper- 
ate situation. They made her repeat it several times, and, 
when it was over, paid her in food, or such little trifles or 
trinkets as they possessed, — not in money, for they had 
none. 

About the song, the singer, the soldiers, the scene, and 
its surroundings there was something intensely pathetic 
and depressing, and I turned away with a heartsick feel- 
ing, not relieved by the silence and desolation along the 
route to my father's quarters at the residence of a Mr. 
Dunlop in the western part of the town. I found him in 
the act of going to tea with his staff, if a meal at which 
there was neither tea nor coffee may be so designated. 

Our meeting after two years' separation — years in 
which so much had happened to both of us — was inex- 
pressibly delightful. In my father's greeting was blended 



318 THE END OF AN ERA 

love for his " little Benjamin," pride in recent events, 
and solicitude concerning my fate in the dangerous present- 
future. 

The two years of war since we parted showed their 
effects upon him. He had aged decidedly. But his eye 
was as bright and his spirit as unconquered as at the 
outset. 

We hugged and kissed, each other as if I had been a 
boy of ten, and then, turning to his staff and a visitor, he 
introduced me as his boy, whose " head was so hard he had 
burst a bombshell against it." 

The evening being very warm, the tea-table was spread 
under the trees in the Dunlop yard. Among those pre- 
sent were : Colonel Roman, of Beauregard's staff, young 
Fred Fleet, adjutant-general, my brother Richard, and 
Barksdale Warwick, the two aids-de-camp. The con- 
versation was jolly, and the meal surprisingly inviting, for 
Lieutenant Warwick had returned that day from a^hort 
leave of absence, bringing a number of good things. My 
father occupied some outbuildings, where his generous 
host, Mr. Dunlop, had supplied him with knives, forks, 
plates, and table outfit, giving our tea-table under the 
trees quite a luxurious appearance. And there were my 
old companions, Joshua and Smith, two of my father's 
young slaves, who performed all the offices of grooms, 
butlers, and dining-room servants for the staff. Lieuten- 
ant Warwick's Jim was the cook. As Joshua and Smith 
appeared with plates and hot biscuits and a smoking pot 
of parched-corn coffee, they broke into broad grins at 
sight of me. Putting down their things unceremoniously, 
they rushed up, exclaiming, " How you do. Mars' John ? 
Gord Amighty! how you is grow'd ! Dey didn't hurt 
you much when dey shot you, did dey ? " When my father 
repeated his joke about bursting a bombshell with my 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 319 

head, they guffawed and said, " Spec' it 's so, fur he cer- 
tainly always did have a pow'ful hard head." And then 
they hurried off about their duties, reserving more confi- 
dential chats about old times for later occasions when we 
should meet at the stables or the kitchen. 

Although our beds were on the floor, the quarters were 
very comfortable, with some features of decent living, such 
as tables, chairs, and a few books. As we sat there, the 
picket-firing along the lines from the Appomattox on the 
east to the Jerusalem plank road to the south of the city 
was unusually brisk, making one think of corn rapidly 
popping. These sounds were interspersed with exploding 
shells at intervals of less than a minute, often as frequent 
as eveiy few seconds. By stepping out beyond the cover 
of the trees, we could see the trajectory of the mortar- 
shells sent up from both sides. The burning fuses gave 
us the line through the darkness. The firing generally 
became more active in the evening. Our brigade was 
already in the trenches, but my father, being still in com- 
mand of the city, had not yet joined his own command. 

" There has been heavy firing on the right this after- 
noon, general," said Colonel Roman. 

" Yes," replied my father, " Grant is evidently trying 
to extend his left as far as the Weldon Railroad. I met 
Mahone to-day, who said that he and Wilcox were mov- 
ing out to intercept him. Whenever Mahone moves out, 
somebody is apt to be hurt." 

" Mahone is a Virginia Military Institute graduate," 
said I, with undisguised pride. 

" There he goes again," said my father, smiling ; " up to 
this time we have had West Point, West Point, West 
Point. Now we shall have Virginia Military Institute, 
Virginia Military Institute, Virginia Military Institute, 
I presume. But seriously speaking, colonel, since the 



320 THE END OF AN ERA 

death of Stonewall Jackson, the two men who seem to me 
to be the most gallant, enterprising, and ' coming ' soldiers 
of Lee's army are this little fellow Mahone and young 
Gordon, of Georgia." He then proceeded to give a sketch 
of Mahone, whom he knew well. Mahone was born in 
Southampton County, at Jerusalem, the county seat. It 
was only about fifty or sixty miles east of Petersburg. 
His father was known to everybody in the county as 
Major Mahone, and kept the tavern at Jerusalem. Keep- 
ing tavern did not imply that he was not as good as any- 
body else in the community, and in fact he was, although 
he may not have been of such patrician extraction as some 
of the other people thereabouts. He associated with the 
best of them, and they with him, and he was respected as 
a man of many sterling good qualities, possessed of strong 
individuality. Of Irish extraction, he inherited the most 
prominent characteristics of his race; was brave, open- 
hearted, free-spoken, a free liver, and not over-prosperous. 
His son " Billy," as everybody called him, grew up in 
the atmosphere of a country tavern. He did not hesitate 
in his youth to hold a horse for one of his father's guests, 
and take a tip for the service. He saw a great deal of 
liquor drunk at his father's bar, and a great deal of card- 
playing in his father's tavern. He was not, in his day, 
above taking in a tray of toddies to the people in a private 
room playing draw poker, or brag, or lou. He heard a 
great deal of hard swearing, and had acquired that ac- 
complishment himself. His youth was in the days of cock- 
fighting ; and betting upon the result was by no means 
deemed disreputable. He not only witnessed cocking- 
mains between the Virginia birds and those from Weldon 
and vicinity in the adjoining counties of North Carolina, 
but soon had birds of his own, and scrupled not to fight 
them with all comers, or to back them with all the means 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 321 

he could command. It was the days of horse-racing also, 
and young " Billy " owned a crack quarter-nag, which he 
would race with anybody for all he had, at any time and 
in any place. He generally rode himself, for he was of 
very diminutive stature. And he usually won, for he was 
a youngster of precocious judgment, boundless enterprise, 
great ambition to win at any game he played, and indom- 
itable grit. He also had the faculty of making friends, 
and interesting people in his success. Everybody in 
Southampton County knew him, and recognized in him 
elements of unusual power. 

His father was perhaps too much interested in his busi- 
ness or his own diversions to concern himself overmuch 
about Billy's education, but the subject did not escape a 
neighbor, who had brought his influence to bear in favor 
of young Mahone. He was a state senator, with the right 
to appoint a state cadet to the Virginia Military Institute. 
This meant that the cadet so appointed received board 
and tuition free. Interested in Billy, he persuaded his 
father and himself that he ought not to waste his youth in 
dissipation and grow up in ignorance, but should accept 
this appointment. Mahone was prompt to do so. He 
entered the Institute, and graduated with distinction at 
the age of twenty-one in the class of 1847. He consci- 
entiously performed the obligation which a state cadet 
assumes, to teach school for three years after graduation ; 
and meanwhile made other powerful friends, who advanced 
him in his subsequent career. 

At the Virginia Military Institute, he developed a 
decided talent for engineering. Having completed his 
term as school-teacher, he secured a position as surveyor 
of a railroad running from Alexandria, Va., to Orange 
Court House. His talents were recognized; he was 
promoted ; and finally, through the influence mainly of 



322 THE END OF AN ERA 

Colonel Francis Mallory, of Norfolk, he was made en- 
gineer of a line from Norfolk to Petersburg. Here he was 
confronted by the problem of securing a roadbed through 
the oozy morasses of the Dismal Swamp. He solved the 
problem, built the road, and made it straight as an arrow 
for sixty miles, regardless of obstructions. His engineer- 
ing methods to obtain a solid roadbed on marshy ground, 
then pronounced as impracticable, have now come to be 
accepted by the ])rofession as the best yet invented. He 
rose from position to position, until, at the outbreak of 
the war, when but thirty-five years old, he was president 
of the Noi-folk and Petersburg Railroad. 

He promptly formed, and was elected colonel of, the 
Sixth Virginia Regiment, composed of the elite of Norfolk 
and Petersburg, and, when that regiment was brigaded, 
was made brigadier. Thenceforth, in every engagement 
in which it took part, his command was conspicuous. In 
the peninsular and Rappahannock campaigns, at second 
Manassas, in front of Petersburg, his course was like the 
eagle's, " upward and onward and true to the line," and, 
after all his fighting and losses, when Lee's army stacked 
arms at Appomattox, Mahone's division had maintained 
its organization better, and laid down more arms, than 
any in the Army of Northern Virginia. The facts of his 
youth and the brilliancy of his career up to date were 
that night the subject of conversation until the visitors 
departed. 

We lay awake talking for some time after we retired. 
My father recounted his hard fighting from June 15 to 
June 19 inclusive, in the effort to hold the city until Gen- 
eral Lee's arrival, and never seemed to tire of asking 
about the behavior of the cadets, seeking ever to conceal 
his pride in our achievements by denouncing the crime of 
putting such babies into battle. In his own command, the 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 323 

losses had been terrific. Many a fine fellow whom I 
knew well had been killed or maimed in the hard fio^htinsr 
of the previous week. Then we counted up the casualties 
in our own immediate family. Since 1861, he, three sons, 
and nine nephews had gone into the Confederate service. 
Thus far, two had been killed and six wounded. 

" You must go down the first thing in the morning to 
the hospital, and see your cousin Douglas. It may be the 
last opportunity," said he, his voice softening as he spoke. 

" Why, he is not much hurt, is he? " said I, for he had 
been reported only slightly wounded. We were talking 
of his brigade-inspector, a member of his staff, a favorite 
nephew, who had always been more like a son than a 
nephew. 

" Yes, very seriously," he said ; " at first we thought 
it a mere scalp wound like yours, but his brain is affected 
now, and I apprehend the most serious result." 

I soon discovered that my own future was causing him 
great anxiety, and that before my coming, notwithstanding 
all the cares and anxieties surrounding him, he had been 
thinking and planning about me. He had not, perhaps, 
even confessed it to himself, but his plans involved put- 
ting me in a place of safety. He told me that General 
Kemper, of Gettysburg fame, now^ permanently disabled 
by the wounds received there, was organizing the Virginia 
reserve forces, that is, men over forty-five years old and 
boys under eighteen ; that, in doing so, the services of a 
large number of drill-masters would be required ; that they 
would have the rank of second lieutenants, and be assigned 
to staff duty in active service as soon as their work as 
drill-masters was completed ; and, finally, that he had 
already been in correspondence with General Kemper, 
who was an old friend, and had secured the promise of 
one of these appointments for me. 



324 THE END OF AN ERA 

It was all put very attractively and very seductively, 
but I saw the motive very clearly. I felt rebellious about 
it, but could not but love the dear old fellow all the 
more, and did not blame him, so fearless himself, for lov- 
ing me to the point of pardonable cowardice concerning 
myself. Knowing his sacrifices and sufferings, I felt that 
I had no right to be refractory just then ; and the idea 
of being a lieutenant, with bars on my collar, tickled my 
vanity not a little. 

I was awakened in the morning by our servant Smith 
exclaiming, as he awoke father, " I declar', Marster, it looks 
like Gin'l Mahone dun caught de whole Yankee army." 

" What 's that ? " exclaimed father, springing out of 
bed. 

Then Smith informed us that during the night a great 
number of prisoners, captured the preceding evening by 
General Mahone, had been brought into Petersburg, and 
were at that moment confined under guard on a piece of 
meadow in rear of our stable, near what were known as 
the Ettrick Mills. Dressing quickly, we walked down to 
where the prisoners were, and there we found over seven- 
teen hundred Union soldiers, captured the preceding day 
from the divisions of Generals Mott and Gibbons by 
General Mahone. 

We ascertained in a general way what had occurred. 
My father inquired for General Mahone, and was told he 
would be down a little later ; he left a message requesting 
General Mahone to call by his headquarters. They had 
been warm friends, personal and political, for years ; my 
father had faith in his ability, and had helped him mate- 
rially in his early struggles, and he in turn thought the 
" Old General," as he always called him, one of the 
greatest of men. We had just finished breakfast when, 
trotting up through the yard, followed by a soldier on a 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 325 

sway-backed, flea-bitten gray, came little General Ma- 
hone. 

He was the sauciest-looking little manikin imaginable ; 
he rode a diminutive blood-like bay mare, fat, sleek, and 
well-groomed, as if no war were going on ; she was quick 
and nervous, and tossed her head, and champed at her bit, 
and sidled about like a real live horse, instead of being 
poor, jaded, and half asleep, as were many others ; her 
trappings, too, were expensive, new, and stylish. The 
little general looked like a perfect tin soldier. He threw 
his reins to the orderly and dismounted. His person and 
attire were simply unique : he was not over five feet 
seven inches tall, and was as attenuated as an Italian 
greyhound ; his head was finely shaped ; his eye, deep-set 
beneath a heavy brow, was very bright and restless ; his 
hair was worn long ; his nose was straight, prominent, 
and aggressive ; his face was covered with a drooping 
mustache and full beard of rich chestnut color and ex- 
ceeding fine texture ; he wore a large sombrero hat, with- 
out plume, cocked on one side, and decorated with a 
division badge ; he had a hunting-shirt of gray, with 
rolling collar, plaited about the waist, and tucked into 
his trousers, which were also plaited about the waist- 
band, swelled at the hips, and tapering to the ankle ; 
while he wore boots, his trousers covered them ; those 
boots were as small as a woman's, and exquisitely made ; 
his linen was of the very finest and softest, — nobody could 
guess how he procured it ; and when he ungloved one 
little hand, it was almost as diminutive and frail as the 
foot of a song-bird ; he had no sword, but wore a sword- 
belt with the straps linked together, and in his hand he 
carried a slender wand of a stick. Altogether, he was the 
oddest and daintiest little specimen of humanity I had 
ever seen. His voice was almost a falsetto tenor. 



326 THE END OF AN ERA 

" Ah ! my dear general," he exclaimed, advancing 
cheerily, and extending his hand ; " I received your mes- 
sage and was delighted, for I can never pass you by." 
Refusing to have breakfast replaced, he said, "No, no, no, 
you know I am tortured with my old enemy, dyspepsia. I 
can take nothing but milk ; and I suffer so without that 
that I have brought my Alderney cow along with me in 
all our campaigns." 

Most of the staff he knew ; as he looked inquiringly at 
me, my father presented me. A bright, affectionate smile 
spread over his face. 

" Good boy ! " said he ; "I knew the old Virginia Mili- 
tary Institute would show folks what fighting is, if she 
ever had a chance." Then he turned to my father and 
said, " General, give him to me ; I '11 have plenty for him 
to do." That remark cost the old gentleman many an 
anxious hour. 

Then the party sat down, and Mahone with his little 
stick, and in his peculiar graj^hic way, drew in the sand 
the diagram of yesterday's operations, and explained how 
he and his gallant division had " doubled 'em up," as he 
loved to call it. And this is how it was : — 

Grant's left and our right were south of Petersburg, 
near the Jerusalem plank road. Grant had a way of 
putting one line immediately opposite us to occupy us, 
and then forming a second line a mile or so in rear, which 
he would extend beyond the first, and then throw it 
forward. By this process he sought to envelop our right 
flank. Learning that the Union troops on our right were 
in this position, General Lee sent out General Cadmus 
Wilcox, with a division of A. P. Hill's corps, to take posi- 
tion in rear of the enemy's rear line, and General Mahone, 
with his division, to interpose between the enemy's two 
lines and attack the line nearest to us. When Wilcox 



THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 327 

heard Mahone's attack upon the first line, he was to 
attack the rear of the second line. 

Mahone went in, took his position, attacked, " doubled 
up " Grant's left, ran the Union soldiers out of their own 
lines into ours, and captured 1742 prisoners, four light 
guns, and eight standards, and Wilcox spent the day- 
fumbling and fiddling about and doing nothing. From 
then until now he has been explaining, sometimes saying 
A. P. Hill never fully informed him of what he was ex- 
pected to do, sometimes claiming that Mahone acted with- 
out cooperating with him, and always disposed to grumble 
and try to put the blame upon Mahone for achieving a 
success so much more brilliant than his own. 

Be that as it may, " Little Billy Mahone," that sunlit 
June morning, was one of the brightest, merriest little 
soldiers in the Confederacy, and never imagined, as he 
told us how it was done and chuckled over the surprise 
of the enemy, that any one would afterwards blame him 
for what he had done. Even then he had, by his brilliant 
work, gained such lodgment in General Lee's regard that 
he was rapidly taking rank in his confidence alongside of 
Long-street and A. P. Hill. 

As he mounted his little thoroughbred, clapped his 
spurs to her, touched his hat, and galloped away, I felt 
as if I would give anything in this world if my father 
would consent to his proposition, — " Give him to me." 

A little later, we walked down to the hospital, and 
found my poor cousin delirious ; in a day or two he was 
dead, and our family contributed one more victim to the 
Juggernaut of war. 



CHAPTER XXI 

LIFE AT PETERSBURG 

Following close upon Mahone's successful manoeuvre 
came the raid of General Wilson around our right flank, 
whereby he attempted to destroy General Lee's line of 
supply, — the Southside Railroad. He was promptly and 
hotly attacked and driven off near Black's and White's 
Station by General W. H. F. Lee ; then, pursuing the 
line of the Danville Railroad, he was repulsed at Staun- 
ton River bridge by local militia ; turning back from 
that point to rejoin the Union army, Hampton, Fitz Lee, 
Heth, and Mahone attacked him near Reams's Station, 
and handled him so roughly that he became the laughing- 
stock of Lee's army. We at Petersburg saw nothing of 
these operations, but the incidents of Wilson's discomfi- 
ture and final rout furnished merriment for the camjjs 
during the ensuing period of comparative inactivity. 

About the middle of July, I visited Richmond to in- 
quire about my appointment as drill-master. General 
Kemper's reception was pompous ; he was a striking- 
looking man, notwithstanding a waxen pallor proceeding 
from the severe wounds he had received at Gettysburg ; 
he apparently suffered great pain ; hobbling back and 
forth upon his crutches, he descanted, with loud voice and 
consequential manner, upon the noble woi'k of preparing 
raw troops for service in the field. He also indulged in 
sentimental flights upon military glory, not failing to 
refer to the fact that he was the only survivor of Pickett's 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 329 

three brigadiers who entered the fight at Gettysburg. 
General Kemper had a good record as a soldier, both in 
Mexico and in our own service ; otherwise, judging by 
manner and conversation alone, he would have been 
classed as a Bombastes Furioso. 

The upshot of our interview was the promise of a com- 
mission, coupled with the information that my duties 
under it would not begin before October 1, as his depart- 
ment was not yet fully organized ; that was delightful, for 
Petersburg had fascinated me, and I hurried back there. 
My father was not overpleased at my reappearance. He 
had depended upon his friend Kemper to put me away 
in some safe place ; I, on the other hand, still cherished 
the hope that he might yet listen to Mahone's request 
that he should give me to him. 

If a boy just closing the Iliad, the Odyssey, or the 
j^neid, should be permitted to behold their heroes in 
the flesh, and performing the valorous deeds which im- 
mortalize them, fancy what would be his ecstasy ! Yet, 
for three years past, modern heroes had come upon the 
stage who were, in my enthusiastic estimate of their 
powers, second to no half-clothed ancient whose deeds are 
celebrated by Homer or Virgil. 

Until now, I had lived in torturing apprehension lest 
a perverse fate should deny me opportunity to see them, 
and to follow, however humbly, leaders who had been 
the subject of my thoughts by day and dreams by night 
since the great struggle began. Here they were all about 
me ; a house, or a tent by the roadside, decorated with 
a headquarters flag, guarded by a few couriers, was all 
that stood between their greatness and the humblest pri- 
vate in the army. They were riding back and forth, and 
going out and coming in at all hours, so that everybody 
saw them. 



330 THE END OF AN ERA 

Two of the immortals of that army had been snatched 
away before my day, — Stonewall Jackson of the infantry, 
and Jeb Stuart of the cavalry. But the presence of a 
glorious company still gave romantic interest to the deeds 
of the Army of Northern Virginia. Robert E. Lee, Beau- 
regard, A. P. Hill, Ewell, Anderson, Hampton, Pickett, 
Mahone, W. H. F. Lee ("Rooney"), Gordon, Fitz Lee, 
Fields, Heth, Hoke, and a host of lesser lights were still 
actors in its heroic struggles. The first shall be last in 
the description of these men as I saw them almost daily. 
Of Anderson, Fields, and Ploke I remember very little, 
and Longstreet was absent. 

Next to General Lee in point of rank and fame was 
General Beauregard. He had been hurried up with his 
command in May from Charleston to defend Petersburg 
until Lee's army would reach the scene. Under him, my 
father's command had borne the brunt of the first assaults 
upon Petersburg. He was attached to General "Wise, and 
as he frequently visited our quarters, I saw him often. 
Beauregard was a soldier of decided ability, and deserves 
great credit for the early defense of Petersburg. He was 
heavily handicapped throughout the war by the dislike of 
Mr. Davis. If he had been given more favorable opportu- 
nities. General Beauregard would occupy a more prominent 
place in the history of the civil war. In appearance, he 
was a petite Frenchman. His uniform fitted to perfection, 
he was always punctiliously neat, his manners were fault- 
less and deferential. His voice was pleasant and insinu- 
ating, with a perceptible foreign accent. His apprehen- 
sion was quick, his observation and judgment alert, his 
expressions terse and vigorous. Like many of our other 
distinguished soldiers, especially of his race, he was fond 
of the society of the gentler sex, and at his best when in 
their company. 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 331 

General A. P. Hill was the opposite of General Beau- 
regard in appearance and in manner. He was of the old- 
fashioned American type of handsome men. He was what 
men call a " men's man." He had a high brow, a large 
nose and mouth, and his face was covered with a full, 
dark beard. He dressed plainly, not to say roughly. He 
wore a woolen shirt, and frequently appeared, especially 
in action, attired in a shell jacket. About his uniform he 
had little or no ornamentation, hardly more, in fact, than 
the insignia of rank upon his collar. Beauregard, like a 
true Frenchman, was often accompanied by a full staff. 
Hill, on the other hand, appeared to care little for a staff. 
When he was killed, at the time our lines were broken 
and Petersburg evacuated, although he was a lieutenant- 
general, he was in advance of his line, accompanied by a 
single courier. General Hill gave the impression of being 
reticent, or, at any rate, uncommunicative. Neither in 
aspect nor manner of speech did he appear to measure 
up to his great fighting record. Yet great it was, for he 
enjoys the unique distinction of having been named by 
both Lee and Jackson during the delirium of their last 
moments. 

When Stonewall was unconscious and dying, " A. P. 
Hill, prepare for action," was one of the last things he 
said. When, long after the war had ended, General Lee 
lay unconscious, breathing his last, in quiet Lexington, he 
exclaimed, " A. P. Hill must move up." A. P. Hill 
would seem to have been the one to whom both these 
great leaders turned in a great crisis, as if feeling that, if 
he could not save the situation, nothing could. What 
nobler tribute from his commanders could a soldier wish ? 
Yet, illustrious as were the services of General Hill, I do 
not recall ever hearing anybody speak of a close intimacy 
with him, or of his being deeply attached to any individ- 



332 THE END OF AN ERA 

ual. He appeared to have no interest in the fair sex. 
His soul seemed concentrated and absorbed in fighting. 
What success he might have had in independent com- 
mand, no one can conjecture. His fame rests in his intel- 
ligent, tireless, and courageous execution of the commands 
of Lee and Jackson. 

Dear old General Ewell ! No Southern soldier can re- 
call his name without a flush of pride. Posterity will 
class him, under Lee and Jackson, with men like Picton 
under Wellington. When I first saw him, old " Fighting 
Dick," as he was called, had lost a leg ; but he was still 
in the business enthusiastically, as if he possessed as many 
legs as a centipede. He was attached to my father. Our 
families were intimate. He would ride up to our quar- 
ters, and, seated on horseback, talk by the hour over the 
military and political outlook. He said his wooden leg 
made it too much trouble to dismount and remount. Re- 
moving his hat to catch the summer breezes, he displayed 
a dome-like head, bald at the top, the side-locks brushed 
straight forward ; his fierce, grizzled mustaches sticking 
up and sticking out like those about the muzzle of a ter- 
rier. Fighting was beyond question the ruling passion of 
his life. His eye had the expression we see in hawks and 
gamecocks. Yet the man's nature, in every domestic and 
social relation, was the gentlest, the simplest, the most 
credulovis and affectionate imaginable. He was small of 
stature, and his clothes, about which he was indifferent, 
looked as if made for a larger man. Up to the time he 
lost his leg, he was regarded as the toughest and most en- 
during man in the army. Not by any means an ascetic, 
he could, upon occasion, march as long, sleep and eat as 
little, and work as hard, as the great Stonewall himself. 

The commander of Lee's cavalry at this time was 
General Wade Hampton, of South Carolina. My ideas 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 333 

of cavalrymen had been derived to a large extent from 
Lever's troopers in " Charles O'Malley," one of the most 
fascinating books ever placed in the hands of boys with 
military inclinations. Jeb Stuart's leadership of the Con- 
federate cavalry had elevated that ideal somewhat, without 
detracting from the gallant, devil-may-care recklessness 
pervading the story of the Irish dragoon. The fighting 
morale of Stuart's cavalry was nowise impaired under the 
dashing leadership of Hampton. He was as dauntless 
as Stuart, and, if anything, a more distinguished-looking 
man. Thoroughly inured to fatigue by a lifetime spent 
in the saddle or in the field, his reputation as a sports- 
man was second only to his fame as a cavalryman. A 
born aristocrat, his breeding showed itself in every fea- 
ture, word, and look. Yet his manners and bearing with 
the troops were so thoroughly democratic, and his fear- 
lessness in action so conspicuous, that no man ever excited 
more enthusiasm. He rode like a centaur, and possessed 
a form and face so noble that men vied with women in 
admiration of General Hampton. 

His two most prominent lieutenants were William 
Henry Fitzhugh Lee and Fitzhugh Lee ; the former a 
son, the latter a nephew, of the commander of the army. 
These cousins were strikingly unlike. 

General William H. F. Lee, familiarly called " Rooney," 
had lost much time from active service. He was captured 
early in 1863, and detained in prison until about May, 
1864. Upon his return to active service, he quickly rees- 
tablished himself by energetic work ; and the manner in 
which he attacked and followed up General Wilson fixed 
upon him anew the affections of the army. He was an 
immense man, probably six feet three or four inches tall ; 
and, while not very fleshy, I remember that I wondered, 
when I first saw him, how he could find a horse powerful 



334 THE END OF AN ERA 

enough to bear him upon a long ride ! In youth, he had 
figured as stroke-oar at Harvard. Although of abste- 
mious habits, his complexion was florid. His hands and 
feet were immense, and in company he appeared to be 
ill at ease. His bearing was, however, excellent, and his 
voice, manner, and everything about him bespoke the 
gentleman. Speaking of cavalry, a horse simile is admis- 
sible. " Rooney " Lee, contrasted with Hampton, sug- 
gested a' Norman Percheron beside a thoroughbred ; Gen- 
eral Fitzhugh Lee, a pony-built hunter. I have known all 
the Lees of my day and generation, — the great general, his 
brothers, his sons, nephews, and grandsons, — and Gen- 
eral " Rooney " Lee I regarded and esteemed more highly 
than any of the name, except his father. Yet he was the 
least showy of that distinguished family. This gentleman 
— a gentleman always and everywhere — would have 
made a more conspicuous reputation in the cavalry, if the 
war had not ended so soon after his return from his long 
imprisonment. He had not much humor in his composi- 
tion, although keenly appreciative of it in others. He 
was a widower in 1864, and nothing of a society man, 
although a gallant admirer of women. After the war, he 
married a beautiful descendant of Pocahontas, Miss Tabb 
Boiling, of Petersburg. He had none of the tricks which 
gain popularity, but somehow he grappled to him the 
men of his command with hooks of steel, and is remem- 
bered by his veterans with as much affection as any offi- 
cer in Lee's army. 

His opposite in everything but courage was his cousin, 
Fitzhugh Lee, called " Fitz " by everybody. Fitz Lee 
combined in himself not only the blood of the Lees, but 
of George Mason, one of the greatest of our Revolutionary 
leaders. The strain of jollity pervading him probably 
came from the Masons ; for while " Light Horse Harry " 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 335 

was in his day a rattling blade, the Lees were, as a rule, 
quiet folk. His father. Commodore Smith Lee. was all 
gentleness and urbanity. On the other hand, the Masons, 
from the first George Mason, of Stafford, who sympa- 
thized with Bacon in his rebellion, down to the grand- 
father of Fitz Lee, convey the impression of a decided 
fondness for " fighting, fiddling, and fun." Fitz gradu- 
ated at West Point in 1856, more distinguished for horse- 
manship than anything else. Doubtless he might have 
done better if he had tried. He had hosts of friends, and 
no end of enjoyment, and took to the cavalry as a duck 
does to water. In his service upon the plains prior to 
the war, an Indian found his short, stout thigh a good 
pincushion for a feathered arrow, and after his conva- 
lescence, he was assigned to duty as cavalry instructor at 
the United States INlilitary Academy. From that position 
he resigned at the outbreak of the war. He was now, at 
the age of twenty-nine, a brigadier-general, a bachelor, 
and gay cavalier of ladies. 

The first time I ever saw him was in June, 1864, in 
Richmond. In those days Third Street, leading out to 
the pretty heights of Gamble's Hill, was the favorite even- 
ing promenade. The people of Richmond, save such as 
visited friends in the country, remained in town through- 
out the summer, for no places of public resort were open, 
and nobody had the means to go, if they had been 
open. On summer nights the better classes, maid and 
matron, old men, high officers, soldiers, boys and girls, 
strolled back and forth on Third Street to catch the 
southern breeze upon the hill, cooled by its passage 
across the falls of the James; to watch the belching 
furnaces of the Tredegar cannon foundry on the river 
banks below ; and to listen to the band which sometimes 
played upon the hill. "While tlnis diverting myself one 



336 THE END OF AN ERA 

evening with a party of young friends, we saw a string | 
of cavalry horses held in front of the residence of a pro- i 
minent citizen, and, as we approached, heard the sound 
of a piano, accompanied by a male and a female voice, ., 
singing " The Gypsy Countess." The curtains of the , 
parlor were drawn back to relieve the intense sultriness, [ 
and the party was visible from the street. A strong, deep 5 
voice sang the familiar part of the duet, — " Come, fly j 
with me now." The sweet answer was returned in female 
notes, " Can I trust to thy vow ? " Then the two warbled 
the refrain together, and the performance finally con-, 
eluded amid merry laughter and vigorous applause. 

The performance was varied by the appearance of a . 
cavalryman with his banjo. He gave them some jingling ; 
music, which sent everybody's blood bounding. Knowing j 
the host, we felt no hesitation about joining the party, 
of onlookers upon the portico, and there we beheld Fitz, 
Lee with his staff, making a jolly night of it as they 
passed through Richmond on their way to Petersburg..! 
The house was the home of one of his favorite young .l 
staff officers, whose sister was Fitz Lee's partner in the 
duet. In appearance. General Lee was short, thickset, 
already inclined to stoutness ; with a square head and , 
short neck upon broad shoulders, a merry eye, and a joy- 
ous voice of great power ; ruddy, full-bearded, and over-i 
flowing with animal spirits. At last the banjo struck up 
his favorite air : — ^ 

" If you want to have a good time, 
Jine the cavalry, j 

Jine the cavalry, 
Jine the cavalry." 

Fitz and staff joined in the refrain with mighty zest, 
making the house ring with their hilarity. 

This over, they announced their departure for Peters- 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 337 

burg, and a mighty hubbub they made. The ladies of 
the house and the young girls brought food and dainties 
for their haversacks, and wearing apparel for use in 
camp : the packing of these stores took place in the hall- 
way, and then followed the farewells. It was " Good-by, 
Lucy," " Good-by, Mary," " Good-by, Jennie," and Fitz 
Lee must have been kin to a great many of those 
pretty girls. His young staff officer kissed his mother 
and sister farewell ; Fitz Lee, true to his cavalry instincts, 
began kissing also ; this doubtless inspired his young 
captain to extend like courtesies to visitors as well as 
the family, and wherever he led, Fitz followed. By the 
time their plunder had been placed upon their steeds, and 
they, with jangling spurs, had scrambled to their saddles, 
Fitz Lee and staff had taken " cavalry toll " from every 
pretty girl in sight. Finally, with many fond adieus and 
waving plumes, they rode away down Gary Street, their 
mounted banjoist playing the air, and they singing in 
chorus, — " If you want to have a good time, jine the 
cavalry." 

They passed over the bridge across the James, their 
route to Petersburg illuminated by the harvest moon, and 
a day or two afterwards were making it very uncomfort- 
able for General Wilson at Reams's Station. In later 
days. General Fitz and I were political opponents, but 
that fact never obliterated my affectionate remembrance 
of his merry, gallant cavalry leadership, or of the debt 
I owe him for the noble tribute he has placed upon 
record to my father's unflinching courage upon the re- 
treat, and until the last gun was fired at Appomattox. 

Less conspicuous than Hampton and the Lees was the 
cavalry brigadier-general, Peering. " Jim " Deering, as 
everybody called him, was a very young man ; if I mis- 
take not, he was a second-class man at West Point when 



338 THE END OF AN ERA 

the war broke out ; yet, when killed upon the retreat from 
Petersburg, he had risen to the command of a brigade. 
He was a man of remarkable health and strength and 
courage, with a multitude of friends. Pursuing the 
horse simile, under wliich the three others have been 
grouped, he may be likened to a promising colt of fault- 
less breeding, with a brilliant record in his first year's 
performance. Deering was too young when killed to be 
classed among the great leaders, but was a youngster of 
unusual military instinct. 

Keturning to the infantry, there was Pickett, whose 
name is linked forever with that of Gettysburg. Pickett 
was a striking figure : he was a tawny man, of medium 
height and of stout build ; his long yellow hair was 
thick, hanging about his ears and shoulders, suggestive 
of a lion's mane, lie was blue-eyed, with white eye- 
lashes, florid complexion, and reddish mustache and im- 
perial emphasizing his blonde appearance ; he was of the 
Saxon type. Pickett was a gentleman by birth. Pie had 
a great number of relatives and friends in Pichmond and 
in the James River section ; they were justly proud of 
his military career. He was a high and a free liver, and 
often declared that, to fight like a gentleman, a man must 
eat and drink like a gentleman. General Lee was a 
very prudent and al)stemions man himself, but never 
censorious touching the mode of life of his inferiors 
when they discharged the duties assigned to them. In 
this respect he was diffei'cnt from Stonewall Jackson, 
who rather exp(!cted those under his command to conform 
to his simple mode of life. Pickett was a trained soldier 
and loved fighting. Pitz Lee tc^lls a characteristic anec- 
dote of him : As he rode into tlie fight at Gettysburg, in 
passing General Lee he cried out, pointing to the front, 
" Come on, Fitz, and go with us ; we shall have lots of 



LIFP: at PETERSBURG 339 

fun there presently." It was an odd sort of fun ho had 
that day ; but I have no doubt it was the life in which he 
was happiest. 

I have already described Mahone, and now come to 
John J3. (jrordon, of Georgia, a division commander under 
General Lee, who had attained marked distinction in 
spite of the fact that he was not a West Pointer. Gor- 
don is still alive, and not appreciably changed from what 
he was in 'C4 ; he was then a tall, spare-built young 
fellow, of very military bearing, his handsome face 
adorned by a deep gash received in one of the battles of 
the valley. The military genius of General Gordon was 
never tested in any independent command, but his fear- 
lessness and eagerness to assail the enemy, whenever and 
wherever he was ordered to do so, made him one of the 
most cons])icuous and popular connnanders under General 
Lee. Wherever he app(!ared, the soldiers flocked about 
him and cheered him ; wheiever he commanded, they felt 
confident of hot work ; and wherever he 1<m1 (he never 
followed), the soldiers were willing to go, because they 
had sublime faith in his fidelity and coui-age. We often 
saw General Gordon, who was a warm admirer of my 
father ; and to this day I delight to honor him as one of 
the truest and bravest of Lee's lieutenants. 

It has always seemed to me that sufficient recognition 
is not given to the great service rendered by the artillery. 
This is probably due to the fact that it is under the 
command and direction of some general officer, who re- 
ceives credit for success. Then, too, the numbers of the 
artillery are not sufficient to attract attention, as in the 
case of cavalry or infantry, wlien, in large bodies, they 
are conspicuously courageous. General Lee's chief of 
artillery, Gc^K^ral Long, is seldom heard of in the accnmnts 
of the fighting about Petersburg, and although artillery 



340 THE END OF AN ERA 

played a prominent part in every engagement, the com- 
manders are seldom spoken of, while infantry and cav- 
alry officers are noticed conspicuously. No general ever 
commanded a finer body of young artillery officers than 
General Lee. Alexander, Pegram, Haskell, Carter, Brax- 
ton, Parker, Sturtevant, Breathitt, and a number of others 
I might name, were counted as the very flower of the 
army. Yet they are gradually disappearing from view in 
the prominence given to the officers in higher command. 

Colonel William J. Pegram was the most picturesque 
figure among these many distinguished artillerists. With- 
out early military training, save in our little boy-soldier 
company in Richmond, he entered the service as a pri- 
vate, and by his pronounced courage and military talents 
became a colonel at the age of twenty-one, and was killed 
at the age of twenty-three years, when his promotion to 
brigadier-general had been ordered. Pegram was a boyish- 
looking fellow, very near-sighted, and, with his gold spec- 
tacles and clean-shaven face, looked more like a student of 
divinity than a soldier. He was reticent, modest, but of 
boundless ambition. He had indulged in none of the dis- 
sipations of youth, and was extremely pious. He loved 
fighting, feared nothing, and was an exacting disciplina- 
rian. General Lee, while undemonstrative in most things, 
regarded " Willie " Pegram, as everybody called him, 
with undisguised affection and pride. 

John Haskell, of South Carolina, was another of his ar- 
tillery paladins, who was never so hapjiy as when standing 
amid the smoke of his own batteries. To him primarily 
was due in a great measure the saving of Lee's army at 
the crater fight. But I must pass from the description of 
these lesser lights to one who, like Saul, towered, from 
his shoulders and upward, tallest among all the people. 

It is impossible to speak of General Lee without seem- 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 341 

ing to deal in hyperbole. He had assumed command of 
the Virginia army under jieculiar circumstances. It had 
been organized at Manassas in '61 under Beauregard and 
Joseph E. Johnston. In the winter of '61 and '62, it had 
been transferied to the peninsula between the York and 
the James, still under the command of General Johnston. 
Under him it retreated towards Richmond, and he re- 
mained in command until wounded in the battle of Seven 
Pines. General Johnston had inspired the army with 
great confidence in his ability, and undoubtedly possessed 
the quality of securing the deep and abiding faith and 
affection of his troops. During the period above de- 
scribed. General Lee had not gained ground in public 
esteem. In '61, he had been assigned to the command 
and direction of those impossible campaigns in West Vir- 
ginia from which he had emerged with a loss of prestige. 
They failed, as any campaign must have done in such 
a country. Whether or not due allowance was made for 
conditions, in judging of Lee's ability, need not be dis- 
cussed. Suffice it to say, that after the termination of 
the West Virginia campaign. General Lee was sent to 
Charleston, where he was engaged in strengthening the 
fortifications until May, 1862, and that in June accident 
called him to the command of the army about Richmond. 

It is no disparagement of General Lee to say that there 
were many who, at the time, regarded the wounding of 
General Johnston as a profound misfortune. But it was 
not long before Lee established himself in the affection 
and confidence of that army, and took a place never occu- 
pied by any one else. Before the last gun fired at Mal- 
vern Hill, at the close of the seven days' fighting, the 
army had become known as Lee's army. It never had 
another name, and as such it will go down to history. 

I have seen many pictures of General Lee, but never 



342 THE END OF AN ERA 

one that conveyed a correct impression of his appearance. 
Above the ordinary size, his proportions were perfect. 
His form had fullness, without any appearance of super- 
fluous flesh, and was as erect as that of a cadet, without 
the slightest apparent constraint. His features are too 
well known to need description, but no representation of 
General Lee which I have ever seen properly conveys the 
light and softness of his eye, the tenderness and intellectu- 
ality of his mouth, or the indescribable refinement of his 
face. One picture gives him a meatiness about the nose ; 
another, hard or coarse lines about the mouth ; another, 
heaviness about the chin. None of them give the effect 
of his hair and beard. I have seen all the great men of 
our times, except Mr. Lincoln, and have no hesitation in 
saying that Robert E. Lee was incomparably the greatest- 
looking man I ever saw. I say the greatest-looking. By 
this I do not mean to provoke discussion whether he 
was, in fact, the greatest man of his age. One- thing is, 
however, certain. Every man in that army believed that 
Robert E. Lee was the greatest man alive, and their faith 
in him alone kept that army together during the last six 
months of its existence. 

There was nothing of the pomp or panoply of war about 
the headquarters, or the military government, or the bear- 
ing, of General Lee. The place selected as his headquar- 
ters was unpretentious. The officers of his staff had none 
of the insolence of martinets. Oddly enough, the three 
most prominent members of his staff — Colonel Venable, 
Colonel Marshall, and Colonel Walter Taylor — were 
not even West Pointers. Persons having business with 
his headquarters were treated like human beings, and 
courtesy, considerateness, and even deference were shown 
to the humblest. He had no gilded retinue, but a devoted 
band of simple scouts and couriers, who, in their quietness 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 343 

and simplicity, modeled themselves after him. General 
Lee as often rode out to consult with his subordinates as 
he sent for them to come to him. The sight of him upon 
the roadside, or in the trenches, was as common as that 
of any subordinate in the army. When he approached or 
disappeared, it was with no blare of trumpets or clank 
of equipments. Mounted upon his historic war-horse 
" Traveler," he ambled quietly about, keeping his eye 
upon everything pertaining to the care and defense of 
his army. " Traveler " was no pedigreed, wide-nostriled, 
gazelle-eyed thoroughbred. He was a close-coupled, 
round-barreled, healthy, comfortable, gentleman's saddle- 
horse. Gray, with black points, he was sound in eye, 
wind, and limb, without strain, sprain, spavin, or secretion 
of any sort ; ready to go, and able to stay ; and yet with- 
out a single fancy trick, or the pretentious bearing of 
the typical charger. He was a horse bought by General 
Lee during his West Virginia campaign. 

When General Lee rode up to our headquarters, or 
elsewhere, he came as unostentatiously as if he had been 
the head of a plantation, riding over his fields to inquire 
and give directions about ploughing or seeding. He ap- 
peared to have no mighty secrets concealed from his sub- 
ordinates. He assumed no airs of superior authority. He 
rej)elled no kindly inquiries, and was capable of jocular 
remarks. He did not hold himself aloof in solitary gran- 
deur. His bearing was that of a friend having a common 
interest in a common venture with the person addressed, 
and as if he assumed that his subordinate was as deeply 
concerned as himself in its success. Whatever greatness 
was accorded to him was not of his own seeking. He was 
less of an actor than any man I ever saw. But the im- 
pression which that man made by his presence, and by his 
leadership, upon all who came in contact with him, can be 



344 THE END OF AN ERA 

described by no other term than that of grandeur. When 
I have stood at evening, and watched the great clouds 
banked in the west, and tinged by evening sunlight ; 
when, on the Western plains, I have looked at the peaks 
of the Rocky Mountains outlined against the sky ; when, 
in mid-ocean, I have seen the limitless waters encircling 
us, unbounded save by the infinite horizon, — the gran- 
deur, the vastness of these have invariably suggested 
thoughts of General Robert E. Lee. Certain it is that the 
Confederacy contained no other man like him. When its 
brief career was ended, in him was centred, as in no other 
man, the trust, the love, almost the worship, of those who 
remained steadfast to the end. When he said that the 
career of the Confederacy was ended ; that the hope of 
an independent government must be abandoned ; that all 
had been done which mortals could accomplish against the 
power of overwhelming numbers and resources ; and that 
the duty of the future was to abandon the dream of a con- 
federacy, and to render a new and cheerful allegiance to 
a reunited government, — his utterances were accepted as 
true as Holy Writ. No other human being upon earth, 
no other earthly power, could have produced such acquies- 
cence, or could have compelled such prompt acceptance 
of that final and irreversible judgment. 

Of General Lee's military greatness, absolute or rela- 
tive, I shall not speak ; of his moral greatness I need not. 
The former, in view of the conditions with which he was 
hampered, must leave a great deal to speculation and con- 
jecture ; the latter is acknowledged by all the world. The 
man who could so stamp his impress upon his nation, ren- 
dering all others insignificant beside him, and yet die 
without an enemy ; the soldier who could make love for 
his person a substitute for pay and clothing and food, and 
could, by the constraint of that love, hold together a naked, 



LIFE AT PETERSBURG 345 

starving band, and transform it into a fighting army ; 
the heart which, after the failure of its great endeavor, 
could break in silence, and die without the utterance of 
one word of bitterness, — such a man, such a soldier, such 
a heart, must have been great indeed, — great beyond the 
power of eulogy. 

Not in five hundred years does the opportunity come 
to any boy, I care not who he may be, to witness scenes 
like these, or live in daily contact with men whose names 
will endure as long as man loves military glory. 



CHAPTER XXII 

THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 

Much of the month of July we passed in the trenches. 
Father was in command of Petersburg, and Colonel J. 
Thomas Goode commanded the brigade, but we visited it 
almost daily. It was assigned to Bushrod Johnson's divi- 
sion, and our position was next to the South Carolinians 
under Elliott. Our left was about a hundred yards south 
of a bastion known as Elliott's salient. 

Life in the trenches was indescribably monotonous and 
uncomfortable. In time of sunshine, the reflected heat 
from the new red-clay embankments was intense, and un- 
relieved by shade or breeze ; and in wet weather one was 
ankle-deep in tough, clinging mud. The incessant shell- 
ing and picket-firing made extreme caution necessary in 
moving about ; and each day, almost each hour, added to 
the list of casualties. The opposing lines were not over 
two hundred yards apart, and the distance between the 
rifle-pits was about one hundred yards. Both sides had 
attained accurate marksmanship, which they practiced 
with merciless activity in picking off men. One may 
fancy the state of mind of soldiers thus confined, who 
knew that even the act of going to a spring for water 
involved risk of life or limb. 

The men resorted to many expedients to secure some 
degree of comfort and protection. They learned to bur- 
row like conies. Into the sides of the trenches and trav- 
erses they went with bayonet and tin cups to secure shade 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 347 

or protection from rain. Soon, such was their proficiency 
that, at sultry midday or during a rainfall, one might look 
up or down the trenches without seeing anybody but the 
sentinel. At sound of the drum, the heads of the soldiers 
would pop up and out of the earth, as if they had been 
prairie-dogs or gophers. Still, many lives were lost by 
the indifference to danger which is begotten by living 
constantly in its presence. 

To appreciate fully the truth that men are but children 
of a larger growth, one must have commanded soldiers. 
Without constant guidance and government and punish- 
ment, they become careless about clothes, food, ammuni- 
tion, cleanliness, and even personal safety. They will at 
once eat or throw away the rations furnished for several 
days, never considering the morrow. They will cast aside 
or give away their clothing because to-day is warm, never 
calculating that to-morrow they may be suffering for the 
lack of it. They will open their cartridge-boxes and dump 
their cartridges on the roadside to lighten their load, 
although a few hours later their lives may depend upon 
having a full supply. When they draw their pay, their 
first object is to find some way to get rid of it as quickly 
as possible. An officer, to be really efficient, must add 
to the qualities of courage and firmness those of nurse, 
monitor, and purveyor for grown-up children, in whom the 
bumps of improvidence and destructiveness are abnormally 
developed. 

Thus, in spite of warnings and threat of punishment 
for failure to approach and depart from the lines by the 
protected covered ways, it was impossible to make the 
men observe these reasonable precautions. For a long 
time they had been shot at, night and day. A man, be- 
cause he had not been hit, would soon come to regard 
himself as invulnerable. The fact that his comrades had 



348 THE END OF AN ERA 

been killed or wounded appeared to make little impres 
sion upon him. Past immunity made kim so confident ' 
that he would walk coolly over the same exposed ground 
where somebody else had been shot the day before. The ■ 
" spat," " whiz,'" " zip " of hostile bullets would not even i 
make him quicken his pace. Mayhap he would take his ' 
short pipe out of his mouth and yell defiantly, " Ah-h — ^ 
Yank — yer — kain't — shoot," and go on his way tempt- 
ing fate, until a bullet struck him and he was dead, or 
maimed for life. At times I questioned whether these 
soldiers were not really seeking relief by death or wounds 
from the torture of such intolerable life. It was enough 
to make men mad and reckless. 

Occasionally we had suspension of firing. At such times ' 
even ladies visited the trenches. I recall particularly one 
party of pretty girls who came over from Richmond, rode " 
out on horseback to a jioint in rear of our position, and, 
dismounting, advanced boldly across the exposed ground, 
and stood for some time on our parapets watching the 
Union lines. The intrenchments of the enemy were lined ' 
with soldiers sunning themselves, or engaged in a favorite ' 
occui^ation familiar to all old soldiers, but not to be de- \ 
scribed in polite literature. " Hello, Johnnie ! it 's ladies' 
day, ain't it ? " called out a fellow from a rifle-pit, when 
he saw the riding-habits outlined against the sky. 

We often talked to each other. Sometimes our con- 
versation was civil and kindly enough. Sometimes it' 
was facetious. At others it was of the grossest and most 
unmentionable character. On an occasion like this, 
the presence of ladies was greeted as a high compliment 
by our men, and accepted by the enemy as gratifying 
evidence of our confidence in their good faith. By 
both sides the fair visitors were treated with the utmost 
deference. 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 349 

A truce like that described would be terminated by 
some one calling out from the rifle-pits that orders had 
come to reopen fire at a designated time, sufficiently remote 
to allow everybody to seek cover. When the hour arrived, 
at it again they would go, as fiercely as ever. The follow- 
ing incident will convey some idea of the jarecision of 
marksmanship attained by constant practice. It was told 
me repeatedly by Isaac Newman, one of the most fearless 
and truthful men I ever knew. He was the survivor of 
the episode. Newman and a comrade, whose name was 
Blake, I think, were detailed as sharpshooters in one of 
the rifle-pits in our front. Sharpshooters were posted and 
relieved at night, and but once in twenty-four hours. The 
attempt to reach or return from a rifle-pit in the daytime 
would have been followed by certain death. The pit was 
a hole in the ground large enough to contain two men. 
A curtain of earth was thrown up in front, with a narrow 
embrasure through which to fire. On the inside was a 
small banquette in front, upon which the men could sit 
or kneel when firing. Newman and Blake were reckless 
and resourceful chaps. They hit upon the device of tak- 
ing a small looking-glass into the pit with them. This 
they hung opposite the embrasure. 

By this arrangement they could sit on the banquette, 
with their backs to the enemy, and see in the looking- 
glass all that was going on in front, without exposing their 
heads. They were inveterate card-players. Neither had 
any money, but for stakes they used square bits of tobacco 
cut the size of a " chaw." This was high stakes for Con- 
federate soldiers. With a greasy, well-thumbed pack of 
playing-cards, they indulged in the excitement of seven-up 
] for several hours. The stakes were placed, and the cards 
thrown down upon the part of the banquette which 
lay between them under the embrasure. As the game 



350 THE END OF AN ERA 

proceeded, both congratulated themselves that they had 
discovered a device and diversion which made life in a 
rifle-pit comparatively safe and endurable. Instead of 
craning and peeping on the lookout, all that was neces- 
sary was to cast a glance now and then at the looking- 
glass. Occasionally, one or the other would stick his cap 
on the end of a gun, and put it up above the breastwork, 
and some watchful sharpshooter would bang away at it. 
After a while, Newman, who had lost all his tobacco, see- 
ing his last chew was to be won by Blake, snatched the 
stakes, and stuck a chew into his mouth. This was fol- 
lowed by some friendly scuffling and horse-play, in the 
course of which Blake's head was incautiously exposed 
for an instant at the embrasure. It was for but a mo- 
ment, but that moment was fatal. Zip ! spat I came a 
bullet, quick as a flash. It crashed through poor Blake's 
temples and broke the looking-glass. Newman was left 
in the pit with the dead body of Blake imtil midnight. 
When relieved, he returned to the lines bearing the re- 
mains of his friend upon his shoulders. 

In telling this story, Newman always followed it by 
adding that he believed the man who killed Blake had a 
personal grudge against him, because the next morning he 
made a pot of coffee, the last he had, and set it on the 
parapet to cool ; and just as he reached up for it, a shot, 
fired from the same rifle-pit whence Blake had been killed, 
struck the coffee-pot, and emptied its scalding contents 
down his jacket sleeve. 

When our troops first manned the lines, the things most 
dreaded were the great mortar-shells. They were partic- 
ularly terrible at night. Their parabolas through the air 
were watched with intense apprehension, and their explo- 
sion seemed to threaten annihilation. Within a week, 
they had ceased to occasion any other feeling among the 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 351 

men than a desire to secure their fragments. They had 
learned to fear more danger from minie balls than from 
mortar-shells. There was little chance of a shell's faUiner 
upon the men, for they could see it and get out of the 
way. Unless it did actually strike some one in its descent, 
the earth was so tunneled and pitted that it was apt to fall 
into some depression, where its fragments would be stopped 
and rendered harmless by the surrounding walls of dirt. 
Iron was becoming scarce. As inducement to collecting 
scrap-iron for our cannon foundries, furloughs were 
offered, a day for so many pounds collected. Thus, gath- 
ering fragments of shell became an active industry among 
the troops. So keen was their quest that sometimes they 
would start towards the point where a mortar-shell fell, 
even before it exploded. 

Such was life in the trenches before Petersburg. Look- 
ing back at it now, one wonders that everybody was not 
kiUed, or did not die from exposure. But, at the time, no 
man there personally expected to be killed, and there was 
something — nobody can define what it was — which made 
the experience by no means so horrible as it now seems. 
I doubt if all these little things made such deep impres- 
sions upon older men. I was very young, very much inter- 
ested, and, being without defined duties or command, 
could come and go as I saw fit ; and so, I fancy, it was 
not so irksome to me as it must have been to those more 
restrained. 

All during the month of July, the fact that the enemy 
was mining in our front was discussed and accepted by 
the troops. How soldiers get their information is one of 
the mysteries of the service, yet they are often in posses- 
sion of more accurate knowledge than those high in au- 
thority. For some time the reports about the mine were 
exceedingly vague. More than one Union picket had 



352 THE END OF AN ERA 

hinted at a purpose to " send you to Heaven soon," or 
threatened that they were " going to blow you up next 
week." For some time, no less than three salients were 
discussed as the possible points. Our engineers had some 
sort of information, for countermining was begun at all 
these salients ; but, for some unknown reason, it was 
abandoned. Their information must, however, have been 
more or less definite concerning the Elliott salient, for, 
while they abandoned countermining, they did erect a 
gorge line, or retrenched cavalier, at this point, and planted 
batteries of eight and ten inch Coehorn mortars bearing 
upon the spot. The gorge line was a curved line of para- 
j)et in rear of the salient, connecting with the main line 
of our breastworks ; so that, if the salient should be blown 
up, our troops could occupy the gorge line in rear, and 
resist an assault at the breach. Placing the Coehorn mor- 
tars so as to command the salient showed that the exi)lo- 
sion was apprehended. And these evidences of knowledge 
made it all the more surprising that the men and guns 
in this salient were not removed back to the gorge line in 
time to save them. AVhatever doubts the engineers may 
have felt, the privates knew where the works were being 
mined. Elliott's men told the fellows on the left of our 
brigade all about it long before the explosion. Our men 
would go down there, and, lying on the ground with 
Elliott's men, would listen to the work going on below, 
and come back and tell all about it. 

About daybreak, July 30, the mine was exploded. We 
were so accustomed to extraordinary explosions that no- 
thing short of an eartliquake would have occasioned sur- 
prise. At our quarters, the sound was not extraordinary, 
although we were only about two miles distant ; and I have 
frequently heard General Mahone, whose headquarters 
were alonjr the lines about the same distance from the 



THE BATTLE OK THE CRATER 353 

mine as our own, say the same rliiug. It Nvas fiilly half 
past six o'olook when a messengov from our own brigade 
arrived announcing the explosion, the breach in the line 
to the left of my father's brigade, and the very perilous 
situation of our army. 

This was the outcome of a long and patient series of 
operations on the part of the Union forces. AVheu Peters- 
burg was iirst attiieked, our army had been driven from 
certain positions on an outer or more extended line of 
defenses. About one hundred yards in front of Elliott's 
salient, the second division of Burnside's corps (^Ninth) 
occupied a heavy line of ritle-pits, from which we had 
retired. Behind these ritle-pits, which originally faced to 
the east, the ground dipped, so that operations at that 
point were fairly well concealed. The troops located there 
were the 48th l*ennsylvania Kegiment. recruited in the 
Schuylkill mining districts, and commanded by Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel Henry Pleasants, a mining engineer. He it 
was who conceived the idea of sinking the mine. 

While he secured official sanction of his plan, he 
seems never to have had official support. General Meade 
and his chief of engineers spoke of it contemptuoush' ; 
and Pleasants, in his tcstiniony before the Committee on 
tlie Conduct of the "War, complained bitterly of lack of 
assistance. Notwithstanding all obstacles, the mine was 
complete by July 'Jo. It consisted of a shaft 510 feet 
long, with lateral galleries under our works 38 and 37 
feet long respectively : in these, 320 kegs of powder, con- 
taining 25 pounds each, — in all 8000 pounds. — were 
placed, and preliminary to the explosion, 81 heavy guns 
and mortars and over 80 light guns of the Union army 
were brought to bear on the position to be mined and 
attacked. 

General Grant was bv this time fnllv aroused to the 



354 THE END OF AN ERA 

dignity of the assault, and, in order to divert General 
Lee, made a demonstration in force on the north side 
of the James. General Sheridan with the cavalry and 
General Hancock with a corps of infantry were sent 
across the James, necessitating the withdrawal by Gen- 
eral Lee from in front of Petersburg of all his forces, 
except the divisions of Bushrod Johnson and Hoke, and 
two brigades of Mahone's division. General Lee, in fact, 
had left to defend Petersburg, on the morning of the 
mine explosion, but 13,000 men. It is proper I should 
state that, in the many accounts from which I compiled 
this narrative, none is so terse, and none so foi'tified by 
historic data, as that of Captain Gordon McCabe, of 
Petersburg ; and, while I have not that paper before me, 
I am following it so closely that I should be liable to the 
accusation of plagiarism if I did not make this acknow- 
ledgment. 

Grant quietly recalled Hancock the night of July 29, 
and had him in supporting distance of Burnside when 
the mine was fired. The plan of attack was for Burn- 
side to assault ; Ord on his right and Warren on his left 
were to close in and sustain him. The preparations were 
elaborate. The assaulting column numbered 15,000 men, 
and the supports brought the aggregate Union forces em- 
ployed up to 65,000 men. Burnside's negto division was 
at first considered for leading, but the final determina- 
tion was to let the white troops take the advance, and the 
choice fell by lot to the division of Major-General Ledlie, 
who has been so severely denounced by his own com- 
mander and comrades that I will not discuss his mei'its 
or demerits. The columns were massed for the attack 
overnight, and the fuse of the mine was lighted about 
3.30 A. M. 

The ragged remnant of the Confederate army still left 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 355 

before Petersburg enjoyed unusual repose that night, 
for the firing along the lines had almost ceased. A long 
delay ensued. After waiting more than an hour for the 
explosion, two Union soldiers, at the risk of their lives, 
crawled into the gallery of the mine and found that the 
fuse had failed ; they relit it and returned. Colonel 
Pleasants and his friends stood watching with intense 
solicitude the culmination of their five weeks' labors ; 
fifteen thousand Union troops stood in hushed expect- 
ancy behind the Union parapets, under orders that the 
moment after the explosion they should leap the breast- 
works and advance across ground upon which, for weeks, 
certain death had awaited any man who trod it, and 
mount into those lines whence their oft-tried foe had 
so long hurled defiance. While this was the condition 
of the Union troops, the Confederate infantrymen and 
cannoneers at the doomed salient slept on, as the fuse 
sparkled and sputtered inch by inch towards the four 
tons of gunpowder which were to rend with the violence 
of an earthquake the spot on which they wei'e resting. 

" There she goes ! " exclaimed one of the watchers. 
The ground trembled for an instant ; an immense mass 
of earth, cannon, timbers, human beings, and smoke shot 
skyward, paused for an instant in mid-air, illumined by 
the flash of the explosion ; and, bursting asunder, fell 
back into and around the smoking pit. The dense cloud 
of smoke drifted off, tinged by the first faint rays of sun- 
rise; a silence like that of death siicceeded the tremen- 
dous report. Nearly three hundred Confederates were 
buried in the debris of the crater ; their comrades on 
either side adjacent to the fatal spot fled from a sight so 
much resembling the day of judgment. To the south of 
the crater, our lines were unmanned even as far as our 
brigade, and a similar condition existed on its northern 



356 THE END OF AN ERA 

side ; at least three hundred yards of our lines were de- 
serted by their defenders, and left at the mercy of the 
assaulting columns. Beyond that breach not a Confed- 
erate infantryman stood to dispute their passage into the 
heart of Petersburg. A promi3t advance in force, a 
gallant dash, not into the crater, but around it and 
three hundred yards beyond it, would have crowned the 
great explosion with a victory worthy of its grandeur. 
From the eminence where Blandf ord church and cemetery 
stood, in rear of the mine. Grant's forces might, within 
ten minutes after the mine was sprung, have looked 
backward upon the Confederates, stunned, paralyzed, 
and separated ; and, looking forward, they might have 
seen the coveted city undefended and at their mercy. 

The imbecility which marked the commencement of 
the assault, the folly which crowned its conduct, cannot 
be explained save by the incompetency of General Burn- 
side. What occurred led to a bitter controversy be- 
tween himself and General Meade ; and General Grant 
is upon record as declaring that General Ledlie, who 
commanded the leading division, was unfit for the task 
assigned to him. Certain it is that General Meade, 
the commander of the army ; ought not to have taken 
personal charge of the advance ; and equally certain it 
is that General Burnside, intrusted with the conduct 
of a movement of such moment, ought to have super- 
intended and led it in person. A soldier like Picton, 
or Ney, or Stonewall Jackson, or Phil Sheridan, would 
never have frittered away an opportunity so glorious 
by directing subordinates from a distant position of 
safety. One can picture to himself the way in which 
any one of a hundred great military lieutenants would 
have seen and availed himself of this rare chance for 
immortal fame. The very silence of the Confederates 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 357 

after the explosion was in itself the loud-mouthed voice 
of opportunity, calling- in tones which military genius 
would not have failed to recognize. One can almost see 
the quick rush of the assaulting columns through the 
uncleared smoke of the crater, as they would have come 
under a real leader ; and can almost hear their cheering 
as they mounted the abandoned ti-enches, paying no 
attention to the j^it of their own making, but pressing 
on beyond it without pause until in full possession of the 
position in our rear. The commanding generals knew 
the importance of such a course. General Burnside had 
explicit instructions to pursue it. If he had once shown 
himself at the head of his command, whether it was 
organized or disorganized, it might, could, and would 
have followed him to his objective point, and could and 
would have carried his advantage to its legitimate results. 
Yet, in the whole history of war, no enterprise so auspi- 
ciously begun ever resulted in a conclusion more lame 
and impotent. 

The Union troops designated for the assault, instead 
of drawing inspiration from the sight of the breach they 
had effected, actually appeared to recoil from the havoc. 
For some time no demonstration followed the explosion ; 
when they finally advanced, it was not with the eager- 
ness of grenadiers or guardsmen, but with rushes and 
pauses of uncertainty ; and when they reached our lines, 
instead of treating the opening as a mere passageway to 
their objective point beyond, they halted, peeped, and 
gaped into the pit, and then, with the stupidity of sheep, 
followed their hell-imthers into the crater itself, where, 
huddled together, all semblance of organization vanished, 
and company, regimental, and brigade commanders lost 
all power to recognize, much less control, their respective 
troops. Meade, from his position a mile away, was de- 



368 THE END OF AN ERA 

manding of Burnside why he did not advance beyond the 
crater to the Blandford cemetery. Burnside, safely in the 
Union lines, and separated from his assaulting columns, 
was replying that difficulties existed, — difficulties which 
he could not specify, for the double reason that he did not 
know what they were, and that they did not in fact exist. 

If he, the well-known corps commander, had but shown 
himself and placed himself at the head of his troops, 
there was no obstacle in the way of that advance for 
fully three hours after his troops were in full possession 
of our works. True, he might have been killed ; the 
chance was, however, remote under the circumstances, 
but that was a legitimate contingency connected with the 
business he had undertaken. Whether killed or not, 
his presence would have put his column in motion and 
accomplished the object, instead of leaving his command 
to headless and huddled disaster. Many a soldier would 
have deemed it a privilege to risk his life in averting 
the slaughter of that day, and in converting a threatened 
rout into a brilliant victory. 

But, if Burnside was deficient on the aggressive, the 
Confederate officer in command of the division defending 
the position was a Roland for his Oliver. 

Bushrod Johnson held the rank of major-general. 
How he gained it, or why he retained it, — whether by 
accident or favoritism, — is unimportant ; he had under 
him as gallant troops as ever fought. Elliott's South 
Carolinians, Grade's Alabamians, our own beloved bri- 
gade, were ready to do and die whenever called upon, 
and to follow wherever dauntless leadership directed ; but 
to their division commander they were almost strangers 
He selected headquarters at a house in rear of the liui -, 
It was tucked under the hill by the roadside, just north 
the Blandford cemetery, and there he had remained, vet 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 359 

tating, without any friendly intercourse with his command, 
or communicating with it save through official channels. 
Seldom, if ever, was the man seen in the trenches ; he 
was barely known by sight to his men ; toward him they 
felt no affection, of his prowess they had no evidence, 
and in his ability they felt no confidence. So slight was 
the dependence of his brigadiers upon him, so little their 
habit of communication, so indifferent his own conduct, 
that when General Lee, some hours after the mine had 
been exploded, reached General Johnson's headquarters, 
Johnson knew no details of the disaster, or of the dis- 
positions made to repair it, although it was his own 
division that was involved, and the enemy over the hill 
was not four hundred yards distant. If the enemy 
had pressed forward at any time within two hours after 
the explosion, they would in all probability have found 
General Bushrod Johnson in bed. When General Lee 
arrived about eight o'clock, he found him actually igno- 
rant of the peril. 

But the merciful Gods of War, if they permit such 
people as Burnside and Johnson to masquerade as mili- 
tary men, atone for it by furnishing others whose bril- 
liant deeds divert us from pity for incompetents. 

General Elliott promptly disposed the portion of his 
brigade left to him in the traverses commanding the 
crater ; Colonel Goode, commanding our brigade, concen- 
trated on his left flank, and with the fragment of Elliott's 
brigade, which was driven into ours by the explosion, 
opened a brisk fire upon the assailants. From our ten- 
inch and eight-inch mortars in the rear of the line, a 
most accurate fire was opened upon the troops in the 
ar)>reach ; and our batteries to north and south began 
alo pour a deadly storm of shell and canister upon their 
tr-'Towded masses. The situation looked desperate for us, 



360 THE END OF AN ERA 

nevertheless, for it was all our infantry could do to hold 
their lines, and not a man could be spared to meet an 
advance upon Blandford cemetery heights, which lay 
before the Union troops. At this juncture, heroic John 
Haskell, of South Carolina, came dashing up the plank 
road with two light batteries, and from a position near the 
cemetery began the most effective work of the day. 

Exposed to the batteries and sharpshooters of the 
enemy, he and his men gave little heed to danger. Has- 
kell, in his impetuous and ubiquitous gallantry, dashed 
and flashed about : first here, next there, like Ariel on 
the sinking ship. Now he darted into the covered way 
to seek Elliott, and implore an infantry support for his 
exposed guns ; Elliott, responding to his appeal, was 
severely wounded as he attempted with a brave handful of 
his Carolinians to cover Haskell's position ; now Haskell 
cheered Lampkin, who had already opened with his eight- 
inch mortars ; now he hurried back to Flanner, where he 
had left him, and found him under a fire so hot that in 
mercy he resolved to retire all his guns but six, and call 
for volunteers to man them, but that was not the temper 
of Lee's army : every gun detachment volunteered to 
remain. Hurrying to the right again, he found but one 
group of cowards in his whole command, and these he 
replaced by Hampton Gibbs, and Captain Sam Pres- 
ton of our brigade, whose conspicuous bravery more than 
atoned for the first defection ; both fell desperately 
wounded, and were replaced by peerless Hampden Cham- 
berlayne, who left the hospital to hurry to the fight, and 
won promotion by the brilliancy of his behavior ; again, 
like *Ariel, Haskell, almost superhuman in the energy 
of his defense, " flamed amazement " upon the foe, and 
staggered him with " the fire and crack of sulphurous 
roaring" until help came. To whomsoever else honor 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 361 

may be due for that clay's work, the name of Haskell 
should never be dissociated from it, for he was a born 
and a resourceful artilleryman, and knew no such thing 
as fear. 

Where were the Confederate commanders during all 
this time ? Bushrod Johnson was near by, but nobody 
considered him ; Generals Lee and Beauregard had their 
headquarters on the north side of the Appomattox. It 
was fully six o'clock before General Lee heard the news, 
from Colonel Paul, of Beauregard's staff ! Colonel Paul 
lived in Petersburg, and, being at home that night and 
learning of the disaster, galloped out and informed Gen- 
eral Lee as he was sitting down to his breakfast. Before 
Lee even knew of the occurrence. General Meade had had 
time to converse with prisoners captured at the crater, 
and to advise Burnside that Blandford cemetery was 
unprotected ; that none of our troops had returned from 
the James ; that his chance was 7iovj ; and to implore him 
to move forward at all hazards, lose no time in making 
formations, and rush for the crest. 

General Lee immediately sent Colonel Venable, of his 
staff, direct to Mahone, with instructions to come with 
two brigades of his division to Blandford cemetery to 
support the artillery. The urgency was so great that he 
did not transmit the order through General Hill, the 
corps commander. Mounting his horse. General Lee 
proceeded to Bushrod Johnson's headquarters, which he 
reached about seven a. m., but the information obtained 
from him was valueless : he knew nothing of the extent 
of the disaster, and had not even been to the front, — he 
probably learned more from General Lee than he knew 
himself. Then General Lee was joined by General Hill, 
and they passed into the lines at a traverse near the 
Rives salient, where Colonel Venable found them sitting. 



362 THE END OF AN ERA 

Meanwhile, Venable had communicated with Mahone, 
and Mahone, always cunning, had retired his two brigades 
from the lines so quietly that General Warren, opj^osite to 
him, reported that no troops had been withdrawn from his 
front. The Virginia and Georgia brigades of Mahone's 
division were the troops selected. The message to Ma- 
hone was to send them, but he insisted that he should go 
with them. They passed rapidly by way of a ravine from 
Mahone's position on the lines covering the Jerusalem 
plank road to a point in rear of the crater. The Vir- 
ginia brigade, commanded by Weisiger, led. It was now 
eight o'clock. One cannot but think of what might have 
happened during all this time, if Burnside had acted upon 
Meade's urgent appeals. 

The appearance of this infantry was balm and solace 
to the artillery blazing away upon the crest just above 
them. For hours they had been fighting there, almost 
decimated by the artillery concentrated upon them, and 
the distant firing of sharpshooters. They could not have 
withstood even a feeble assault of infantry, and had ex- 
pected it during every minute they had been engaged : the 
coming of Mahone was their deliverance. With but an 
instant's pause in the ravine to strip for battle, Mahone's 
division, headed by their gallant little general, clambered 
up the slope, crossed the Jerusalem road, and passed in 
single file at double-quick into a covered way. There 
was no cheering, and no gaudy flaunting of uniforms or 
standards ; with them, war's work had become too grim 
and too real for all that. In weather-worn and ragged 
clothes, with hats whose brims could shade their eyes for 
deadly aim, with bodies hardened down by march and 
exposure to race-horse lines, they came, not with the 
look or feelings of mercenaries, but like anxious, earnest 
men whose souls were in their work, who knew what the 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 363 

crisis was, and who were anxious to perform the task 
which that crisis demanded. Agile as cats, they sprang 
across the road and entered the covered way ; as they 
skipped by, many a fellow kissed his hand to the artil- 
lerymen to right and left, or strained on tiptoe to catch 
sight of the ground in front, before entering the sheltered 
passage. For the first time during the day, a line of 
infantry was between our guns and the enemy ; and the 
boys at the guns, knowing what reliance could be placed 
upon Mahone's veterans, took new heart and new cour- 
age, and pounded away with redoubled energy. 

Venable parted with Mahone at the mouth of the cov- 
ered way, and, seeking General Lee, informed him that 
Mahone was up, and proposed to lead his two brigades 
in person. The general expressed his gratification, and 
gave a sigh of relief. Soon leaving the Rives salient, 
General Lee rode to the point in the covered way at 
which Mahone had entered, and, dismounting, proceeded 
on foot to a house at Lampkin's mortar battery, about 
two hundred and fifty yards from the crater. The house 
was riddled by shot and shell ; from a window in its base- 
ment Generals Lee and Beauregard observed the fight. 
The ground from the crater sloped to the north and west 
into a little ravine, into which the covered way, by which 
Mahone had entered, debouched ; in this hollow Mahone 
formed his troops for battle, the Virginia brigade on the 
left. 

Springing quickly from the covered way, the eight hun- 
dred Virginians lay flat upon the ground. The Geor- 
gians were forming on their right. Before the Georgians 
could come into position, the enemy, occupying our gorge 
line, succeeded in forming an attacking column, and 
advanced to the assault. Weisiger, commanding the Vir- 
ginians, was a grim, determined man. Our boys were 



364 THE END OF AN ERA 

lying down within one hundred and sixty yards of the 
works, and saw within them a vast throng of Union troops, 
and counted eleven Union flags. A gallant Union officer, 
seizing a stand of Union colors, leaped upon their breast- 
works and called upon his men to charge. Fully realizing 
the paucity of his own numbers, and the danger of being 
overwhelmed by the mass of the enemy if they poured 
down upon him, Weisiger determined to anticipate the 
thi'eatened movement by charging. Cautioning his men 
to reserve their fire, he ordered them forward. Those 
who saw this assaidt pronounce it to have been, in many 
respects, the most remarkable which they ever witnessed. 
At the command " Forward ! " the men sprang to their 
feet ; advanced at a run in perfect alignment ; absolutely 
refrained from firing until within a few feet of the 
enemy ; then, with their guns almost upon the bodies of 
their foes, delivered a deadly fire, and, rushing upon 
them with bayonets and clubbed muskets, drove them 
pell-mell back into the intrenchments which they had 
just left. 

General Lee, when advised of this brilliant assault, 
remarked, " That must have been jVIahone's old bri- 
gade." When news came confirming it, he again said, 
" I thought so." 

My heart beat high when all the army rang with 
the praises of " Mahone's old brigade." Part of them 
were " our boys " from Norfolk, — many of them little 
older than myself ; companions, playmates, friends. At 
the outbreak of the war, they called them " tender-feet " 
and " dandies." Their uniforms were very smart, and 
their feet were very tender. From one of their earlier 
marches they came back limping, with their feet bleeding 
and their shoes upon their bayonets ; the boys named 
them in derision the " Bloody Sixth." But their hearts 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 365 

were true, and soon their feet grew tough enough. They 
were the sons of the best of the old Tidewater Virginians 
of English descent, and, by the time second Manassas 
and Crampton's Gap were fought, the " Bloody Sixth," 
of " Mahone's old brigade," had earned its title by blood 
from the heart as well as from the feet. To-day it 
crowned its record, for old F Company of Norfolk, now 
known as K Company, Sixth Virginia Regiment, a com- 
pany modeled in happier days after the aristocratic com- 
pany of the New York Seventh, took sixteen men into 
action and lost every man but one, — eight killed outright 
and seven wounded. 

In the position gained by Mahone's old brigade, nothing 
intervened between them and the enemy but the pile 
of breastworks, — they on the outside, the enemy within 
the crater and gorge line. The fighting by which they 
established themselves was desperate and hand-to-hand. 

Superb Haskell once more came to their rescue : he 
moved up his little Eprouvette mortars almost to our 
lines, and, cutting down his charge of powder to an 
ounce and a half, so that his shell scarcely mounted fifty 
feet, threw a continuous hail of small shell into the pit, 
over the heads of our men. Our fellows seized the 
muskets abandoned by the retreating enemy, and threw 
them like pitchforks into the huddled troops over the 
ramparts. Screams, groans, and explosions throwing up 
human limbs made it a scene of awful carnage. Yet the 
artillery of the enemy searched every spot, and they still 
had a formidable force of fighting men. 

The Georgia brigade, charging a little after Weisi- 
ger's, was decimated and repulsed. Our own brigade, 
which was engaged from first to last and never yielded a 
foot of ground, lost heavily, and Mahone's brigade, the 
" immortals " of that day, was almost annihilated. About 



366 THE END OF AN ERA 

one o'clock, the Alabama brigade of Mahone's division, 
under Saunders, arrived upon the scene, formed and 
charged, and the white flag went up from the crater. 
Out of it into our lines filed as prisoners eleven hundred 
and one Union troops, including two brigade command- 
ers, and we captured twenty-one standards and several 
thousand of small arms. Over a thousand of the en- 
emy's dead were in and about the breach, and his losses 
exceeded five thousand effective troops, while our lines 
were reestablished just where they were when the battle 
began. 

The crater fight was not only one of the bloodiest, but 
one of the most brutal of the war. It was the first time 
Lee's army had encountered negroes, and their presence 
excited in the troops indignant malice such as had char- 
acterized no former conflict. To the credit of the blacks 
be it said that they advanced in better order and pushed 
forward farther than the whites, on that day so unfortu- 
nate for the Union cause ; but when ovir men, in frenzy, 
rushed upon and drove the cold steel into them, they did 
not show the stubborn power of endurance for which the 
Anglo-Saxon is preeminent, nor do I believe they ever 
will on any field. On the other hand, our men, inflamed 
to relentless vengeance by their presence, disregarded the 
rules of warfare which restrained them in battle with 
their own race, and brained and butchered the blacks 
until the slaughter was sickening. 

At the first report of the battle, my father promptly 
repaired to the lines. His interest in and affection for 
his brigade was like that of a father for his children ; 
although not in actual command, the duties of his tem- 
porary position were such that he might with propriety 
go forth and reassure his own troops by his presence. 
Moving out rapidly to the opening of the covered way 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 367 

leading to our brigade, we left our horses and hurried for- 
ward to the lines. We came iipon the outer works about 
midway of the brigade, and found the troops manning 
them at intervals of fully ten feet apart, for the brigade 
was massed upon the left in the traverses and covered 
ways, firing steadily and i-apidly upon the crater. A tre- 
mendous artillery fire from both sides raked the vicinity 
of the crater, and the danger to our troops from several 
of our light batteries to the north was almost as great 
as that from the Union guns. Every shot which missed 
the crater came bounding down our lines. Exchanging a 
few words with the fearless Goode, who had his troops 
well in hand, my father at once proceeded to report the 
condition of affairs to General I^ee, whom we had seen as 
we entered the works, and to order up reinforcements 
from the teamsters and cooks at our wagon camp. . 

One of the first wounded men we saw was my cousin, 
" Old Suggs," whose eternal talk about the " Adventures 
of Simon Suggs " had named the family at the Virginia 
Military Institute. Now he was sergeant-major of our 
left regiment, and a glancing ball had struck him on 
an eye tooth and knocked it out. I presume he had his 
mouth open, possibly talking about Simon Suggs. His 
wound proved insignificant, but when we met him, he was 
as bloody as a butcher's cleaver. 

Hurrying back through the covered way, we overtook 
two stretcher-bearers with what seemed to be the dead 
body of an officer. 

" Who is it ? " exclaimed my father. 

" Captain Preston, of the 34th," was the reply. 

Removing the handkerchief across his face, we saw that 
a minie ball had pierced him over the eye. " Poor fel- 
low," almost sobbed my father, as he bent over him, 
" gallant and true to the last." For in the lines we had 



368 THE END OF AN ERA 

heard how a craven in one of our salients near the Baxter 
road had deserted his guns, and Preston had called for 
volunteers, manned them, and worked them until he was 
tlnis shot down. He was a handsome fellow as he lay 
there, apparently dead : thank Heaven he was not dead, 
but lived to hear the army resounding with praise of his 
courage. The minie which pierced him was in sight, and 
the surgeons extracted it. He recovered, and for years 
after peace returned was clerk of a court in Lynchburg, 
where one might see him writing and the deep scar over 
his eye, his handsomest dimple, throbbing with his 
thoughts as he wrote them down. 

While we were back in the town, hurrying every avail- 
able teamster and clerk and cook and man of any kind 
to the front, the famous charge of Mahone took place, and 
others were reaping the glory of that day. By the time 
our work was done, the Alabaraians arrived, the surren- 
der occurred, the firing slacked, and the prisoners came 
running into our lines from the ravine. It was a motley 
gathering, composed of troops, white and black, from 
every command and every branch of service in Burnside's 
corps. There they were, from the refined and distin- 
guished-looking General Bartlett, who bore his misfortune 
like the Christian gentleman he was, down to the wildest- 
looking darkey, who expected every moment that he 
would be massacred. 

The prisoners were corralled at Poplar Lawn, in Peters- 
burg. It was soon discovered that nearly all the negroes 
were from eastern Virginia, many of them owned by tlie 
men tliey were fighting. A notice was posted permitting 
owners to reclaim their property, and the negroes were 
delighted at the prospect of being treated as slaves, in- 
stead of being put to death or sent to a Confederate mili- 
tary prison. Some of the reclamations made were dra- 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 3G9 

matic, some pathetic, and some highly amusing. This last 
expression seems out of place in connection with this 
awful tragedy, but it is true, nevertheless. The negroes 
had witnessed such fierce butchery of their companions up 
to the time they had raised the white flag, that they were 
frantic with fear, and saw no hope of escape. As they 
came running into our lines through the dangers of the 
firing from their own friends, they landed among our 
men, falling on their knees, their eyes rolling in terror, 
exclaiming, " Fur God sake, Marster, doan' kill me. Spar' 
me, Marster, and I'll wuk fur you as long as I lib." 
"Marster" never fell from their poor lips so glibly or 
so often in all their lives ; and even after they had been 
with us long enough to know it was not our purpose to 
put them to death, when one of them discovered his 
real " Marster," he greeted him as if he beheld an angel 
of deliverance. According to the story of every mother's 
son of them, he was not a volunteer, but had been forced 
into the Union service against his will. Of course we 
knew just how much of these tales to believe ; but it is 
safe to say that every master who reclaimed a slave from 
the Federal prisoners captured at the crater felt reason- 
ably certain his man would never again volunteer upon 
either side in any war. 

It seems fitting to close this ghastly narrative with one 
ludicrous incident, which shows that no situation is so 
bloody or so tragic that it has not some episode to relieve 
its horrors. In our brigade was a young fellow who, 
while fighting gallantly at the traverse near the crater, re- 
ceived a bullet in the forearm. His wound was dressed, 
and he was given a ten days' furlough. He was from 
eastern Virginia, and his home was in the Union lines. 
He had no friends, no money, and nowhere to go. In 
this condition, he was wandering about the streets of 



370 THE END OF AN ERA 

Petersburg the day after the crater fight, when his eye 
fell upon the notice to owners that they might reclaim 
their slaves from the prisoners. Thinking that possibly 
he might find one of his father's slaves among them, he 
wandered down to Poplar Lawn. In vain he sought for 
a familiar face, and was turning away, when an attractive, 
smiling young darkey caught his eye and said, " Boss, fur 
God sake, claim me fur yo' nigger." 

" What do you mean, you rascal ? I never saw you 
before," was the reply. 

" I knows it, sah," said the darkey ; " but ef I says I 
belongs to you, who gwine to dispute it, if you don't ? " 

" If I had you, I 'd sell you to-morrow," was the quick 
reply of the young fellow, whose eye brightened with a 
happy thought. 

" I doan' keer ef you does sell me, sah," said the darkey. 
" Dat 's a heap better dan goin' to a Confederick prison 
pen." 

" Done ! " said the soldier ; " when I come back here, 
you speak to me and call me ' Mars' Ben,' and I '11 attend 
to the rest." 

So out he went, and soon came back ; and, as 1^ went 
searching for his slaves, accompanied by an officer in 
charge, the darkey greeted him with " How you do. Mars' 
Ben ? " Then Ben swore at him, and denounced him for 
his ingratitude and desire to kill his master and benefac- 
tor, and they carried it off so well that no one suspected 
the ruse, and the darkey was delivered to " Mars' Ben " 
as his owner, and " Mars' Ben " took him to Richmond 
and sold him for $5000 in Confederate money. " Mars' 
Ben " had a great furlough with that $5000. At the end 
of ten days, he returned to duty with a new suit of clothes 
and fed like a fighting-cock, but without a dollar in his 
pocket. The darkey went to some plantation and never 



THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER 371 

saw a prison pen, and a year afterwards was a free citizen 
of the United States, and probably wound up his career in 
some scalawag legislature, or even as a member of Con- 
gress, — who knows ? Such things were possible in those 
days. 

A short while ago, I met Ben. He is gray-headed now. 
I asked him where he was going. He said to a jjrotracted 
meeting. He told me he had become religious, and said 
he wished I woidd reform. 

"Is it an experience meeting, Ben ? " said I. 

" Yes," said he. 

" Have you ever told them about that darkey you sold 
after the crater fight ? " said I. 

" Now, look here, old fellow," said he, growing confi- 
dential, and with a genuine touch of pitiful pleading in 
his voice, " I wish you would not give me away about that 
thing. I have prayed for forgiveness for that many a 
night. But I don't believe the Lord wants me to expose 
myself before my neighbors, and I hope you will not." I 
agreed to spare him, and so I will ; but, if necessity 
should demand it, I can put my hand upon him now, 
within eight hours' ride from the spot on which I write. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 

In September, 1864, the commission as drill-master, 
with rank and pay of second lieutenant, arrived, accompa- 
nied by orders to report for duty October 1 to Colonel 
Robert Preston, commanding a newly organized regiment 
of reserve forces at Dublin Depot, in southwestern Vir- 
ginia. The red seal and signature of the Secretary of 
War, and the idea of being addressed as lieutenant, made 
their distinct impressions, but did not overcome the 
desire to remain with the army at the front. 

Vain, however, were all pleadings ; and even Mahone, 
when appealed to to intercede for my services, seemed 
indifferent, and dwelt upon the honor to be gained by 
faithful work in preparing raw troops for actual service, 
and the duty of deferring to the judgment and wishes of a 
parent. It was easy to see that he and " the old general " 
had been talking together since that first meeting. 

When, September 30, I boarded a west-bound train at 
Petersburg to join my command, the new, bright bar 
upon my collar and gilt scrolls upon my sleeves gave 
little satisfaction. I felt as if I had been treated like a 
baby, tucked away in a place of safety, and was consent- 
ing to turn my back upon the enemy just when every man 
was most needed in Lee's army. And was I not a man ? 
Of course I was. I was nearly eighteen ! When my 
father parted with me, after much good advice and an 
affectionate farewell, I know it was with the solacing 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 373 

reflection that I, at least, was out of harm's way. If such 
were his feelings and his purpose, great must have been 
his astonishment on opening his first letter from me. 

When the train reached Dublin Depot next morning, I 
inquired of a soldier standing on the platform for Colonel 
Preston's headquarters. " He was camped on yonder 
hill," said the person addressed ; " but him and his regi- 
ment left here last night for Saltville. The Yankees is 
comin' over the mountain from Kentucky to the salt- 
works." 

Trains did not move, in those times, upon precise sched- 
ules. Ours had not yet pulled out of the depot. It was 
in a leisurely way taking on wood and water, and receiv- 
ing or discharging army stores. Without another word, 
I resumed my place in the car, resolved to follow and 
join the regiment. On and on we went, until we came 
to Glade Spring Junction, near Abingdon and the Ten- 
nessee line. There, to my great delight, I found Colonel 
Preston, with his regiment of nondescripts, waiting for 
an improvised train of flat cars, which was to bear them 
to Saltville, eight or ten miles distant. Swinging off the 
car almost before it stopped, I hurried up to the colonel. 
I told him who I was. He gave me a merry and charac- 
teristic greeting. 

From the number of Prestons so far mentioned, one 
might think this a history of the Preston family. It is, 
in truth, a large family, but, so far as I know, none of 
those refei-red to were kin to, or even connected with, each 
other. This dear old man, known to everybody in the 
army and in his section of the State as " Colonel Bob," 
was one of the most lovable and unique characters it was 
ever ray good fortune to be thrown with. He was short, 
thick-set, and had an immense snow-white beard, extend- 
ing nearly to his sword-belt. He often buttoned it into 



374 THE END OF AN ERA 

and beneath his coat or waistcoat. When, as on this 
occasion, it was unconfined, his appearance, figure, beard, 
merry twinkling eye, and ruddy face instantly suggested 
Santa Claus. 

At the outbreak of the war, he commanded a regiment 
in the Manassas campaign; brave as a lion, he was utterly 
ignorant -of military tactics; and it was told of him that 
on one occasion, when his regiment was attacked in flank 
while marching in column of companies, he, after vainly 
endeavoring to think of the command by which to wheel 
by companies into line and charge the enemy, burst into 
an explosion of oaths and said, " Twenty-eighth I swing 
around in companies, like gates, and sick 'em ! " On an- 
other occasion, reaching a fence and not knowing how 
to defile his troojDS through an opening, he gave the fol- 
lowing startling order, " Battalion ! Oh, battalion ! bust 
up ! climb fence, and line up again on t' other side ! " 
These were but samples of the many tales concerning 
him as a tactician ; notwithstanding these slight defects, 
Colonel Bob was honored, respected, and counted one of 
the gamest fighters in the army ; and nothing but the 
infirmities of age had reconciled his beloved " 28th " to 
parting with him. 

When the growing necessities of the war forced upon 
the authorities at Richmond the formation of these re- 
serve regiments, composed of old men and little boys. 
Colonel Bob was among the first appealed to for aid in 
the undertaking, for no man was more beloved or exer- 
cised a stronger influence in his section. 

The day I joined him, he had a veritable Falstaffian 
army: his regiment of eight companies presented every 
stage of manhood, from immature boyhood to decrepit old 
age. One of his companies drawn up in line looked as 
irregular as a pile of barrel-hoops. There was no pre- 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 375 

tense of uniform ; they wore everything, from straw hats 
to coon-skin caps. A vision of Colonel Bob's regiment 
must have presented itself to the mind of General Grant 
when he informed the country that the Confederacy was, 
like Micawber, " robbing the cradle and the grave." 

One thing uniform they had, — every man had a Bel- 
gian rifle, and a cartridge-box filled with pretty fair am- 
munition. To my surprise, they handled these weapons 
effectively and most courageously the following day. 

Nobody realized the ludicrous appearance of his sol- 
diers, or enjoyed it more thoroughly, than did Colonel 
Bob. He would have had a laugh at his own funeral, 
if opportunity had occurred. " Look at that ! " said he, 
stroking his beard and chuckling a comfortable, inside- 
shaking laugh ; " look at that ! Your cadets could n't 
beat it," He was pointing to his command, scrambling 
pell-mell, helter-skelter, upon the dirty flats which now 
had been backed up. Two strapping young fellows were 
tus'2'ins: at an old one, who looked as if he would come 
to pieces, pulling him up on the car, while a third was 
pushing him from behind. 

"Henry!" shouted Colonel Bob, "you must ride Robin 
and lead Bob down to the salt-works. Take your time, 
Henry ; you '11 get there as soon as we do, I think. I 
must stay with my ragamuffins, Henry ; do you under- 
stand?" 

Henry was his smiling, handsome, and deferential mu- 
latto body-servant, who looked after his comfort as if the 
colonel were a baby. Bob was his strong, blood-bay, 
half-bred charger. The way he uttered the word Henry, 
and the tone in which he spoke of Bob, showed how he 
loved them, and how dependent he was upon them. Both 
Henry and Bob were very proud of their master. Henry 
bowed and smiled, assured him all would be as he wished. 



376 THE END OF AN ERA 

and, before departing, whispered to him that he had placed 
some food for him in the locker of the caboose car which 
we were to occupy. 

" Did you put my bottle of brandy there, Henry ? " 
said the colonel. 

"Yes, sir," said Henry, grinning and looking around 
suspiciously. 

" Well, don't do it," said the old man, raising his 

voice ; "these soldiers are honest enough 

about other things, but the last one of them will 

steal whiskey, Henry, and you ought to know that by this 
time. Fetch it right here and put it in my haversack ; 
even then it won't be safe." The old fellow chuckled 
and Henry grinned as he tucked the flask snugly away 
in the corner of his bag. He was not a hard drinker, or 
at all dissipated, but was at his age somewhat dependent 
upon a regular stimulant. 

" Boy," said he, turning to me, for by this time he had 
begun to be familiar, — " boy, I hope you 're not a little 
drunkard ; it 's the meanest, lowest, dirtiest passion in 
the world. When a man gets to loving whiskey, he '11 
steal it from his best friend." Then, lowering his voice, 
he told me it was not the soldiers he feared, but one of 
his officers, who never left him a drop whenever he could 
lay hands upon his " poor little flask." 

By this time our troops were mounted on the train, 
and, with a snort and a jerk and a bump and a thousand 
thumps, we began the trip to Saltville. After a most 
uncomfortable ride, we reached the place. Darkness was 
upon us. Like other localities where salt is found, it was 
a galled, cheerless spot, without verdure in the vicinity of 
the wells and troughs and boilers. The adjacent country 
was, however, pretty enough, and we soon found a camp 
in a neiahborino; wood. The hills about Saltville were 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 377 

almost as regular as hemispheres ; some were prettily 
wooded and others were pasture lands to their summits. 
A mile below the town flowed the Holston River, which 
on our side had high, bluffy banks. The only crossing was 
at a ford, which was very defensible. The Union general, 
Burbridge, with a force organized in eastern Kentucky, 
was advancing to destroy these salt-works, which were 
important to the Confederacy. We were not well in- 
formed concerning the strength of the expedition, the 
direction of his advance, or the troops opposing him. 
The orders received by Colonel Preston had simply 
directed him to report with the regiment at Saltville as 
quickly as possible. Now we were to ascertain the situ- 
ation. 

By the time we had located our camp, Henry arrived 
with the horses. Our headquarters were established 
under a wide-spreading sugar -maple, where he proceeded 
to build a roaring fire, and spread our blankets upon 
the first incline of a hill. After unbuckling his sword 
and standing it against a tree, the colonel, seated upon 
a camp-stool, produced a comb, with which he caressed 
his long beard, and proceeded to swear, in livid and 
picturesque fluency, about everybody and everything he 
knew, without any ill temper or malice whatsoever. 
Henry busied himself brewing a pot of tea and prepar- 
ing a really dainty meal. He always had a mysterious 
store of good things supplied by " Ole Missis," who 
warned him to hide them from " Ole Marster " until 
used, because she knew he would surely give them away 
to some poor soldier, if they came into his possession. 
Whenever provisions ran low, Henry disappeared for a 
day or two, and when he returned he came " bearing 
sheaves." The colonel's home in Montgomery County 
was not so far away that it was out of striking distance 



378 THE END OF AN ERA 

of the faithful slave, and there he found " Ole Missis," 
one of God's noblest and best creatures, praying for 
" Ole Marster " and preparing comforts for him. Mrs. 
Preston was known far and wide as the most devout 
woman in all the countryside. She often wept at the 
unregenerate profanity of her husband, whose only fault 
was that inveterate habit. 

Once I asked Henry if the colonel swore at home. 

" Yes, sir, he do ! " said Henry emphatically. " Ole 
Marster will cuss anywhar ; nothin' kain't stop him. 
But, Lord, lieutenant, he doan' mean nothin' by it. Out- 
side of cussin' he 's des as good and des as 'ligious as 
Ole Missis ; and bofe of 'em gwine to be saved, as sho' 
as you born, fur Ole Missis prays enough to wipe out Ole 
Marster's swearin', an' neither doan' do no harm in de 
world, and I know Gord ain't gwine to separate no such 
pa'r of people ez dey is, in Heaven." 

We sat in the cheery light of our camp-fire and re- 
freshed ourselves with an excellent cup of tea. The 
autumn air was nipping, and the newly risen moon strug- 
gled through the mists which rose from the valley around 
the salt-wells. 

" How are the horses feeling, Henry ? " inquired the 
colonel. 

" Fuss rate, sir. We tuk it easy comin' down, and 
they is fresh as kittens." 

"Can you ride, young 'un?" said the colonel, turning 
to me, as he dropped a coal from his hand into his long 
pipe and puffed away contentedly. Assured that I could, 
he directed Henry to saddle Bob and Robin, and said, " I 
want to ride out somewhere and find out something. I 
don't know what we came here for, or who is coming, or 
who is going to do the fighting." 

We rode out together to the depot. Ascertaining there 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 379 

that General Jackson, of Tennessee, called " Mudwall," 
was the commanding officer, we repaired to his headquar- 
ters. From him we soon ascertained what troops were on 
hand, and the location of the enemy. During the day, 
General Jackson's forces north of the Holston had been 
skirmishing with Burbridge's advance, and retiring before 
him. To-night, Burbridge was camped a short distance 
across the river, and our picket lines were only about 
three miles from town. Our main body of cavalry was 
camped near the ford, and there it was proposed to give 
the enemy battle on the morrow. 

Old " Mudwall " was a common-looking man, with a 
drawl in his voice, and appeared to be taking things very 
easy. Still, he showed courage and intelligence in his dis- 
positions. He told us he was expecting to be reinforced 
by Robertson's cavalry, which was coming up from east 
Tennessee. He hoped they would arrive before morning, 
but intended to fight whether they reached him in time 
or not. 

" Kernel," said he, " my men tell me the Yanks have 
got a lot of nigger soldiers along. Do you think your 
reserves will fight niggers ? " 

" Fight 'em? " said the old colonel, bristling up ; " by 

, sir, they ''II eat 'em uj) ! No ! not eat 'em up ! 

That 's too much ! By , sir, we '11 cut 'em up ! " 

General Jackson explained the plan of battle to Colonel 
Preston ; showed him how his line of battle would be 
formed upon the river, above and below the ford ; ex- 
plained what troops he proposed to place in front ; and 
then pointed out to us a little valley on the left of, and at 
right angles to, the road to the ford. In that valley we 
were to take our position in reserve as soon as the enemy 
appeared and firing began. It was but a short distance 
from our camp. As we rode homeward, the colonel vis- 



380 THE END OF AN ERA 

ited the ground we were to occupy. It was now bright 
moonlight. After going a short distance down the de- 
pression he said, " This place is as snug and safe as a 
dovecote. We can sleep here to-morrow until we are 
ordered in." 

He was jolly at the prospect of a fight. I told him 
what a good joke on my father I considered it that, send- 
ing me down here to get me out of harm's way, I had 
come straight to a battle. He and my father were old 
and devoted friends. When he heard that, instead of 
joining in my laughter, he grew silent, and at last, with 

an effort at badinage, he said, " I don't care a whether 

you get shot or not, but, 6o?/, I would not be compelled to 
tell the general about it, if you are hurt, for all the wealth 
of the Indies." The idea seemed to prey upon him. In 
the few short hours we had been together, he had evidently 
begun to look upon me as his pet. He had few congenial 
companions among his rough command, and he preferred 
always the society of young people. When we reached 
camp, he stood warming himself by the fire, musing, as he 
held out his hands to the glare. 

" Fetch my woolen nightcap, Henry," said he, at last ; 
and, as he fitted it over his white locks, he gave a sigh, 
saying, " what the devil did they send you here for any- 
how ? There 's nothing for you to do." Changing his 
mood as he turned towards his pallet, his face broke into 
a broad grin, and he exclaimed, " Oh, I know ! They 
sent you to keep my back warm. I told Kemper I had 
the rheumatics, and he sent you to snuggle up to me o' 
nights. Come on to bed." 

So, doing as I was bid, I crawled up close to Colonel 
Bob, and, for many and many a night thereafter, that was 
the way we always fell asleep together. God bless him ! 
I know he is in heaven. A heart more tender, a soul 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 381 

more generous, a courage more dauntless, no man ever 
possessed ; and in battle, in bivouac, or under his own 
roof-tree, he was the sweetest old man that ever granted 
to a young one the privilege of his instruction and confi- 
dence, — barring one fault, that he " swore like our army 
in Flanders." 

Up betimes in the morning, we found the road to the 
ford filled with cavalrymen. Some had fallen back before 
the advance of the enemy ; some had arrived from Abing- 
don during the night. All were dismounting to fight on 
foot. Horse details were leading the beasts back to posi- 
tions of safety. 

We moved our command oat promptly, and defiled to 
our assigned position on the left. The hill in our front, 
on which our advance line was posted, concealed us com- 
pletely from the enemy. Behind us, another hill of unus- 
ual height, cleared on its summit, gave a battery planted 
there the range of the ford and of the ground beyond. 
Our front lines had not completed their formations on 
the river bluffs when we heard first a volley, and after- 
wards a dropping fire of musketry. Our pickets beyond 
the river were engaged, and falling back before the ad- 
vancing enemy. Climbing the hill behind us, the view 
was excellent. 

Soon our videttes were all safely across the ford and 
within our lines, and the next move in the game was to be 
made by the enemy. Out he came in due time, in battle 
array, — infantry, cavalry, and artillery, — showing him- 
self along the edge of the woods which crowned the slopes 
of pasture land beyond the ford. 

" Bang ! " went the guns of the battery on the hill be- 
hind us, and a flock of little six-pound shells flew singing 
over our heads towards some cavalry debouching from the 
woods a mile away. The artillery of the enemy promptly 



382 THE END OF AN ERA 

took position and delivered a return fire, but was unable 
to secure an elevation sufficient to reach our battery. 

Out of sight, fully protected, our regiment lay there 
between those dueling batteries. It was very noisy, for 
the shells of the enemy exploded in the woods on the hill- 
side in our rear. Curious to know how our raw recruits 
would behave under fire, I returned to where they were, 
and was much gratified at the spirit of the men, especially 
the youngsters. It was with difficulty that the colonel 
kept them from scrambling up to the top of the^iill in our 
front to watch the fight. The men were conducting them- 
selves like veterans. Many of the boys were sighting 
their guns, and showing how they would " shoot a nigger," 
if they had a chance. 

" Where are your field officers, colonel ? " said I, ob- 
serving that he was the only one upon the ground. " The 
lieutenant-colonel is on furlough, and the major cut his 
foot with an axe last week, and is in the hospital at 
Dublin," said he, apparently unconscious that their ab- 
sence made any difference, or should be supplied. " Say, 
young 'un, you '11 have to give orders to the left side. 
I '11 attend to the right." By the left side he meant the 
left flank of the regiment. He proposed that he should 
act as colonel and lieutenant-colonel, and was uncon- 
sciously promoting me to be major. 

" But, colonel," I protested, " will not your senior cap- 
tains take offense that you do not assign them to the posi- 
tions to which their rank entitles them? " 

" Shut up ! " said he fiercely ; " I 'm running this regi- 
ment. They don't know, and don't care a 

about that ! I know what I want. If you put such 
notions in their heads, there '11 be no end of trouble here. 
You go and do what I tell you ! Do you hear ? " So off 
I went, and perched myself opposite the left battalion. I 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 383 

did not know a man in the regiment, or half a dozen offi- 
cers. It would not have surprised me to hear them tell 
me to go to the devil when I undertook to give them com- 
mands. It seems, however, that they considered me as a 
memher of the coloneVs staff, and nobody raised any ques- 
tion of precedence. 

The battle of Saltville was a very pretty affair. The 
enemy advanced with great spirit to the attack, but our 
troops on our first line had little difficulty in repulsing 
him. Only once were we brought under fire. Near mid- 
day, some colored troops of the enemy found a rather open 
place on the left of our line, near where the streamlet, 
coursing through the depression we occupied, entered the 
river, at a point where it was shallow and rocky. They 
pushed up dangerously near to this possible crossing, 
and their bullets began to search our valley. The officer 
commanding the line in our front ran down to where we 
were asking for reinforcements. Colonel Bob, without a 
moment's hesitation, moved our left battalion down the 
valley and up the hill. 

There the men laid down on the bluffs, and were hotly 
engaged for fifteen minutes, driving the enemy back with 
a loss of but one or two of our men. Then we were 
ordered to withdraw and resume our place in reserve, and 
took no further part in the action. 

The Confederate losses were quite heavy, especially 
upon the hill in our immediate front. There Colonel 
Trimble, in command, was killed in sight of, and but a 
hundred yards in front of, our men. His death was re- 
markable. He was standing still, directing the firing of 
his troops. Of a sudden he sprang high in the air, with 
arms and legs extended at full length. He leaped at least 
five feet, and fell to the ground collapsed and stone-dead. 
We afterwards learned that he was shot through the heart, 



384 THE END OF AN ERA 

and were told that this spasmodic action is not at all 
unusual in such instances. 

Our forces captured about two hundred prisoners, 
mostly wounded. By three o'clock, Burbridge was in full 
retreat, pursued by our cavalry. All danger being past, 
we were directed the next day to repair to Wythe ville 
and go into camp. While our reserve regiment had not 
been seriously engaged, another regiment of reserves, 
commanded by Colonel Tom Preston, was in the front 
line, acquired a great reputation for its gallantry in the 
action, and sustained severe losses. 

" Not much of a fight for us," said Colonel Bob con- 
temptuously, that night. He seemed graveled at the better 
luck of his cousin Tom. His impatience to have a hand 
in the sport had given me some very unpleasant moments. 
All during the day he would beckon to me to leave my 
post as major, and, converting me into a courier for a 
while, he would send me to the general with requests for 
leave to " move up." The general was on the other side 
of the road leading to the ford. The bullets were singing 
up that road like bumble-bees, and every time I crossed it, 
my heart was in my mouth. My sudden transitions from 
major to courier and back again were most amusing. 

" Well, the Yankees did n't kill papa's little bouncing 
boy after all," said he contentedly, as we hugged up to- 
gether under the blankets that night. " I 'm glad of it, 
for you 're warm as a toast, and my back is better 
already." I knew how much stronger his feeling was 
than he expressed it. 

At Wytheville, the regiment was ordered to drill, and 
an additional drill-master arrived. We two toiled away 
at our hopeless task of making men sixty years old stand 
straight and keep step with sixteen-year-old boys. One 
day I suggested to Colonel Bob that, if he would let me 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 385 

make up a company of boys by selections from several 
companies, I would give him a really efficient company. 
He liked the idea, and before long we had a real slashing 
company of soldiers, worthy of any regiment. 

About November 1, we were ordered to move to Chris- 
tiansburg, and march thence into Floyd County, deserter- 
hunting. The mountainous regions of southwest Vir- 
ginia, western North Caroliija, and east Tennessee were 
the places of rendezvous for runaway Confederate sol- 
diers. So numerous and so bold had they become in 
Floyd County, Virginia, that they not only defied arrest, 
but often formed bands, seized Confederate supplies, and 
threatened the property and even the lives of Confederate 
soldiers and sympathizers. Our command was ordered 
there to break up some of these organizations, and to 
capture the ringleaders. It was a thankless task, but one 
requiring some ability, and not unattended with danger. 

Marching out from Christiansburg to a point in the 
mountains of Floyd, we went into camp in the very heart 
of what was known as Sisson's Kingdom. That was the 
name of a large family residing there. Many of them 
had volunteered, and then deserted ; and now they and 
their friends held sway, defied the law, invited other 
runaways to join them, and resisted all control of Con- 
federate authority. 

When this state of affairs, extending over a wide stretch 
of country, became known to me in the autumn of 1864, 
it caused my first misgivings concerning our ultimate 
success ; it was so widespread, and so strangely in con- 
trast with the loyalty of the mountaineers in the Revolu- 
tion, when Washington proclaimed that to them he looked 
as his last reliance in extremity. 

Colonel Preston, notwithstanding his genial nature, was 
a man of resources and firmness. If he hated one mean 



386 THE END OF AN ERA 

tiling worse than another, it was a sneak. He counted 
these deserters among the most contemptible of the human 
race ; and, while he was incapable of brutality towards 
any living creature, he knew when to be severe, and be- 
lieved it was his duty to deal with them summarily, and 
break them up. 

His first advices upon our arrival were to the effect 
that our presence had caused the deserters to abscond. 
He did not believe a word of this, but pretended that he 
did. With great cunning, he acted as if he proposed 
making no efforts to secure them. At the same time, 
through a well-planned system of spies, he was ascertain- 
ing accurately their whereabouts and habits. More than 
once, he sent me many miles away to receive reports from 
his spies, so as to avoid having them seen about our own 
camp. 

In due time, he was ready to act. The deserters, who 
had in fact left their homes when we appeared, began to 
make their presence felt. Lured by our apparent indiffer- 
ence, they became incautious. The old fellow knew the 
location of the house of every deserter, and which were 
ringleaders, and which of them were at home. He had 
also located several deserter camps in the mountains. 
Now came the part of his plan most difficult of execution. 
Awaiting the time when the moon rose late, he divided 
several companies of our regiment into small parties under 
command of intelligent officers. The men were not told 
of the nature of the expedition. Only the officers intrusted 
with the work were thoroughly instructed in the locations 
to be sought, and the duties to be performed. 

Upon the night selected, we started forth. Those hav- 
ing the greatest distances to travel left earliest. The 
man wliotn I was assigned to capture was a notorious 
fellow, living about six miles away in a sequestered gorge 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 387 

of the mountains, quite remote from any road. I had a 
party of ten men. A guide conducted us, and the way in 
which he threaded his course in the darkness through a 
trackless forest was truly marvelous. Towards midnight 
he whispered that we were nearing the deserter's cabin. 

Leaving the men behind us, we approached and walked 
around the premises to get the correct locatiou. Return- 
ing, I brought the men up and instructed them in their 
duties. They were deployed in a circle around the pre- 
mises, and advanced by signals given from man to man. 
It was a business calculated to make a man's blood run 
very chilly. A dog barked ! He came bounding out. 
One of the men plunged a bayonet into his breast, between 
his forelegs, so true that he never yelped or whined. 

" Who 's there ? " called a sharp, nasal, female voice 
from within. No one answered. The words were re- 
peated. I was to do the talking. 

"Is that Mrs. ?" I asked, as soon as I could 

control my voice. 

" Yes. Who are you ? what do you want ? " came 
back quickly and excitedly. I dropped to the ground, 
placed my ear to it, and was sure I heard shuffling about 
within the house, and a sound like that of a closing door. 

When she had repeated her questions, I said quietly, 
" We have come to arrest your husband. He need not 
attempt to resist or escape. The house is surrounded." 

Beti-aying her excitement by her strident answer, she 
exclaimed : " William ean't here, thank God, and ean't 
bin here for more 'n a month. I hope by this he has 
reached the Yankee lines. Thar 's whar he started fur, 
and whar I told him to go ef he did n't want to be 
killed." 

" You must permit us to search the house, madam," 
said I, as kindly as I could. 



388 THE END OF AN ERA 

" Cert'nly. You kin search the house," said she ; but 
she delayed some time before unbolting the door. 

While waiting for admission, I took four men and 
posted them opposite the ends and sides of the house, tell- 
ing them to watch beneath it, and not to move or utter a 
word. One of them sat down on what seemed to be a 
goods box, about twenty feet from the gable end of the 
cabin. Then I detailed two other men to build a fire in 
the yard. With the four other men, I entered the cabin. 
It was a pathetic sight, and my heart chided me for the 
part I bore in it. The woman's teeth were chattering with 
excitement and fright. Three children sat up in a trundle- 
bed. The poor woman had tried to beat up a feather-bed, 
and had drawn the covering over it on one side, so as to 
give it the appearance of having had but one occupant ; 
but when I threw the sheets back, there were the prints 
of two bodies, and it was warm on both sides. The babies 
began to cry. One pleaded, " Where 's my papa? " The 
mother hushed its mouth with her hand. 

There was no doubt about his being there. The only 
question was, where was he ? Vain was the search in the 
closets, under the bed, in the half room under the roof, 
and up the chimney. At last we examined the floor, and 
found a broad, loose plank. But the ground underneath 
the plank was unbroken, and our men could, by the light 
of the newly-lit fire, see under the whole structure. In 
one corner beneath the house we noticed a pile of loose 
dii't, but it made no impression at the time. We had 
almost abandoned the search, when, of a sudden, a tre- 
mendous hubbub in the yard sent all of us running there. 
It was on the dark side of the house. We heard a stifled 
cry of " Help ! Here he is ! Help ! " and, as we came up, 
we saw two men, half buried in the earth, grappled and 
struggling for the possession of a gun. 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 389 

The deserter, escaping, had run into the arms of my 
sentinel. Sitting there on the goods box, watching in- 
tently, the sentinel heard a sound below him. He was an 
intelligent, strapping youngster of about eighteen. Re- 
membering my caution to be quiet, he stepped aside and 
listened. A moment later the box tilted towards him, and 
he squatted behind it so that it concealed him. He saw 
the man's head and shoulders emerge from a hole in the 
ground. The deserter passed up his gun, and was scram- 
bling out of the hole, when the sentinel sprang upon him, 
and the struggle in which we found them engaged began. 
The deserter was the stronger of the two, and had nearly 
dragged the young fellow back into the hole with him 
when we came up. The other men promptly lent a help- 
ing hand, and we soon had our prisoner secured. 

He had dug a tunnel under his house, so that when 
danger threatened he could drop through the floor, crawl 
to the opening of his secret passageway, and, passing 
through it, come out beyond the cordon of sentinels and 
escape. No one would have suspected that the box in the 
yard, with its dirty flooring of planks and grass, was the 
outlet of his subterranean gallery. On several previous 
occasions, he had eluded arrest in this way. Catching 
him now was simply accidental good luck. The fellow 
yielded without many words. He was a superb specimen 
of manhood, and not bad-looking. When we started 
away, he said, " Good-by, Sal. See you ag'in soon, I 
reckin," and then he looked at me and laughed, kissed the 
children, and said, " Wall, I guess I 'm ready." The 
woman had become defiant and abusive, and refused 
some money which I offered her. 

The reticence and secretiveness of these people was 
surprising. They were fearless, and hated inveterately. 
They declined favors of any kind. Before we had gone 



390 THE END OF AN ERA 

a quarter of a mile, we heard a cow's horn winded from 
the cabin. It was the signal of the woman to her friends. 
It was almost day when we reached the camp. Several 
other parties had returned before us. By eight o'clock, 
all our raiders were back. A few had made failures. 
One party had a sharp fusilade with the deserters, and 
had a man wounded. Most of us were successful, and 
our expeditions brought an aggregate of between fifteen 
and twenty deserters into camp. They were placed in 
charge of a strong guard, and sent back to Christians- 
burg. Having secured the most notorious of their lead- 
ers, we flattered ourselves that we had broken the back of 
their rebellion ; but in this we deluded ourselves. 

Within a week, the surgeon of the regiment rode out 
with me to a farm where we heard we could procure 
good butter. As we were returning through a narrow 
pass, talking unconcernedly, and with no thought of 
danger, we saw two puffs of smoke away up among the 
rhododendrons on the mountain-side, and almost at the 
same moment that we heard the reports my horse gave 
a snort and plunge, and the doctor exclaimed, " I am 
shot ! " I saw him seize his bridle with his right arm. 
We put spurs to our horses, and galloped out of that 
pass in a lively way. 

" Hurt much, doctor? " said I. 

" No ; but my bridle arm is disabled," he replied. 

Just as we cleared the pass, my horse, which had been 
behaving singularly, stumbled and fell, and I found he was 
shot through the body, back of the saddle-skirts. A trail 
of blood marked our course along the road. By good luck 
the beast belonged to the Confederate States. The doc- 
tor and I lost no time riding home together on his horse. 
His arm, although broken, soon healed ; but we hunted 
for no more butter on that trip to Floyd. 



THE CONFEDERATE RESERVES 391 

Winter was coming on. We were ordered to return to 
Dublin Depot, and to build cabins or shelters for winter 
quarters. Soon snow fell, and we entered on a period of 
dreary inactivity. As Christmas approached, I obtained 
a short furlough, glad enough to return from the moun- 
tains to friends and relatives near Richmond. Two or 
three days after my departure, the regiment was again 
suddenly ordered to Saltville, which Burbridge captured 
December 20, with part of our command ; but I did not 
hear of it until a week after the occurrence. 



CHAPTER XXrV 

THE BEGINNING OF THE END 

Hints from home indicated that by this time visitors 
to the Confederate capital were most welcome when they 
brought their rations. 

I had been living in a land of milk and honey. In the 
rich pasture lands of the southwest, people were still 
blessed with comparative plenty. Their herds of cattle 
were unexhausted, and supplied them with abundance of 
dairy products. Before starting on furlough, I gathered 
together quite a supply of butter, eggSj maple sugar, 
honey, and other household comforts. We had no express 
service, and, to guard against the plunder of my treasures, 
I rode with them in a baggage-car. Butter cost only 
$8 a pound and eggs were but $3 a dozen, in southwest 
Virginia, whereas the prices in Richmond were f25 a 
pound and $Q a dozen. 

On arriving in Richmond, I was hailed as a shrewd 
trader and rare purveyor. The city, in its chill winter 
garb, showed signs of desperate depletion. The problem 
of sustenance had become serious, even with the rich. 

The clothing of the most prosperous was simple, do- 
mestic, even rough. The poorer classes were scantily clad 
in every kind of makeshift garment, ofttimes in rags. 
People without overcoats met one another upon the streets, 
and talked over the prospects of peace, with their teeth 
chatterincf, their thin jrarments buttoned over their chests, 
their shoulders drawn up, their gloveless hands sunk deep 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 393 

into their pockets for warmth. At meals, the dishes were 
few and simple, procured at prices which sound fabulous. 
Many a family existed upon little else than bacon and 
cornfield peas. General Lee, who had a keen sense of 
humor, and who, under less trying conditions, would have 
allowed his wit to play freely, was once asked by some 
idle chatterer who, in his opinion, was the best friend 
of the Confederacy. Answering a fool according to his 
folly, he replied, with a twinkle of his eye, " The only 
unfailing friend the Confederacy ever had was cornfield 
peas." 

Many States have chosen flowers as their emblem. 
Some, if not all, of the members of the Confederate sister- 
hood ought, in gratitude, to select the blossom of the corn- 
field pea. Time was when it was their " friend in need 
and friend indeed." Nobody knows how many people in 
the Confederacy it kept from actual starvation. I never 
see a bag of cornfield peas without feeling like taking off 
my hat and saying, " Here is to you and the rest of your 
family. May you live long and prosper." 

Even the banked and economically screened coals in 
the grates showed the pinch of hard times. When gas 
was produced at all, it was of the most inferior quality, 
and at such exorbitant prices that most people were 
reduced to the use of tallow candles. 

Hospitable friends, with ample means, were ashamed 
to invite visitors to share their humble fare. Long lines 
of stores were closed : there was nothing to sell. Cigars 
of ordinary quality were $10 each, and whiskey was $5 a 
drink. I needed a uniform coat. After diligent bargain- 
ing, I engaged one at $2000, payable on delivery. My 
pay was |120 a month, but I borrowed the money, ordered 
the coat, and had to wait a month for it. A man who 
brought articles through the Union lines, by making trips 



394 THE END OF AN ERA 

in a canoe across the Chesapeake Bay, procured a black 
felt hat for me. I considered it a bargain when he deliv- 
ered it for ilOO. I bought some leather from a tan-vat 
while in southwest Virginia, and the making of the boots 
with my own leather cost me $150. 

The town was filled with hospitals. Several of them 
took their names from the people whose houses had been 
devoted to these uses. Many ladies had volunteered as 
matrons, and even as attendants. It was part of the daily 
life of Richmond for women to save something from their 
scant sustenance, and take or send it to the sick and 
wounded. One devoted woman so distinguished and en- 
deared herself to everybody by her self-sacrifice that the 
name of Sally Tompkins is known to the Confedei*ates 
as well as Florence Nightingale to the British, or Clara 
Barton to Americans. She was commissioned a captain, 
and the boys all call her, even now, " Captain Sally." 
God will make her an officer of higher o^rade. 

My father had long since rejoined his brigade. They 
were now transferred to the right of our army at Hatcher's 
Run. The privations and sufferings which officers and 
men were undergoing were very fearful. They were hud- 
dled in snow and mud, without adequate supplies of food 
or fuel or clothing. I went ovit to the camp, but had not 
heart to remain long. The struggle was no longer a test 
of valor in excitement : it had become one of inactive 
endurance. 

The Confederate authorities had adopted the policy of 
enlisting negro troops. One sunny afternoon, I visited 
the Capitol Square, and witnessed the parade and drill of 
a battalion of Confederate darkeys. The sight was in 
strange contrast with other parades I had witnessed there, 
— that, for example, of the New York Seventh in 1858, 
or of the cadets, even, in the preceding May. 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 395 

" Ah ! " I thought, " this is but the beginning of the 
end." 

Yet were there thousands — many of them old, many of 
them actually pale from insufficient nutriment, many of 
them without money or employment to provide for pre- 
sent or future — who still believed that the Confederacy 
would achieve its independence. 

The Confederate Congress passed resolutions of hope, 
and sent orators to the trenches and camps to tell the sol- 
diers that " the darkest hour was just before day." One 
of these blatant fellows I recall particularly. He had 
been a fire-eater, a nullifier, a secessionist, a blood-and- 
thunder orator, foremost in urging that we " fight for our 
rights in the Territories." He was a young man, an able- 
bodied man, and a man of decided ability. But never for 
one moment was his precious carcass exposed to danger. 
There was something inexpressibly repulsive to me, and 
irritating beyond expression, when I saw men like this, 
from their safe places, in a lull in hostilities, ride down to 
the Confederate lines during that awful winter, and coun- 
sel our poor soldiers to fight on. Even if it was right to 
fight on, they had no right to advise it. Old Jubal Early 
had opposed the war until it actually came upon him, but 
when it was inevitable, he fought. Things were turning 
out just as he had predicted they would. When these 
people, whose extravagant oratory had done so much to 
bring on the fight, and who had then contributed nothing 
of personal service to sustain it, came among his starving 
men to urge them to sacrifices which they themselves had 
never made, he treated them with undisguised scorn. He 
refused to attend their meeting. From the door of his 
hut he blistered them with his biting satire : — 

" Well — well — ! " he shouted ; " still sicking 

them on, are ye?" "Before you leave, tell them what 



396 THE END OF AN ERA 

you think of your rights in the Territories now." " One 
day out here with a musket would help the cause more 
than all your talk." " Don't talk the men to death. You 
can't talk the Yankees to death. Fighting is the only 
thing that talks now." 

" Old Jubal " had his faults, but skulking in bomb- 
proofs was not one of them. The men had implicit faith 
iu his unflinching courage. He punctured and embalmed 
the lip-service of these " last ditchers," as he called them ; 
and his soldiers, taking the cue from him, hooted and de- 
rided them, and long resented their unwelcome intrusion. 

Yet have I lived to see fellows of that very class and 
coterie successfully pose as surviving representatives of 
the Confederate cause, and avail themselves of the false 
assumption to belittle the loyalty and service of real Con- 
federate soldiers, because, forsooth, those true and tried 
men, long after the Confederate cause was dead and 
buried, dared to differ from them on current policies. 

Let us turn to the more interesting description of social 
conditions at Richmond during the last days of the Con- 
federacy. 

It is a merciful provision of Providence which supplies 
diversion to mankind in the most desperate of situations. 
In the beleaguered capital, even amid the darkest hours 
of our fortunes, there were hearts throbbing with old emo- 
tions which banish thoughts of grief ; and places where 
people met, clothed in the impenetrable armor of youth 
and joy, to dance and laugh adversity to scorn. War, 
pestilence, and famine are impotent to slay, infect, or 
starve the little naked archer. 

Richmond was filled with young girls betrothed to 
young officers in the trenches about that city and Peters- 
burg. It was not susprising, for never did a city of its 
population contain more beautiful and brilliant women 
than did Richmond at that time. 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 397 

The wedding bells chimed merrily in the wintry air for 
the coming nuptials of Colonel William B. Tabb, 59th 
Virginia Infantry, Wise's Brigade, and Miss Emily Ruth- 
erford. 

The Tabbs were among the oldest people of Tidewater, 
and the Rutherfords were of the best of Richmond's 
earliest business men. Colonel Tabb was a tall, brown- 
eyed, winsome youth of twenty-eight, whose gallantly on 
many a field gave him more than ordinary title to his 
stars, and whose modesty and gentleness had brought 
him troops of friends. 

Emily Rutherford, with her peach-bloom cheeks and 
great, wondering, fawn-like eyes, was " queen of the rose- 
bud garden of girls " of her own circle ; and Mr. and 
Mrs. Rutherford presided over a home proverbial for its 
hospitality, even at a time when the hunger and thirst 
of Richmond society was abnormal. 

Thus, from every point of view, whether of pride in 
Tabb, or love for Emily, or the hungry hopes and trust of 
society in the gastronomic abilities of the old folks, all 
things conspired to make the approaching wedding the 
social event of the season. 

The scene at the church was far more brilliant than 
one would fancy it could be after the descriptions given. 
Few girls with any social pretensions in Richmond had 
failed to wheedle or cajole some admiring blockade-run- 
ning magnate into fetching them a silk or ribbon or 
feather from the outside world for this occasion. These 
blockade-runners were the only nabobs in the place : carry- 
ing their fortunes, their liberty, and sometimes their 
lives in their hands, they alone seemed possessors of the 
secret wherewith, even amidst poverty and want, to con- 
jure up wealth and luxury. They still wore broadcloth 
and fine linen, drank French brandy, and smoked black 



398 THE END OF AN ERA 

cigars. To them, and them alone, could bride and brides- 
maids, matron and maid, look for the brave toggery so 
essential upon occasions like this ; and the sea-dogs had 
not failed their fair dependents. 

To me, the Tabb-Rutherford nuptials was an event of 
a lifetime ; it had been years since I had seen such a 
gorgeous function. Nothing like it had been possible in 
Presbyterian Lexington, or the Petersburg front, or in 
the western Virginia mountains. Not only was it to 
seal the happiness of two dear friends, not only were the 
brave and young to be there, but it was to be a notable 
assembling of the great ! What was I to wear ? 

I had a pair of " captured " trousers, originally destined 
for a private in the Union army, now converted into a 
Confederate officer's best attire. Pretty fair trousers they 
were, worn with a long-tailed coat, but unfit for use with 
a jacket. My boots, which cost me so much in the mak- 
ing, were finished, but of fair leather ; that was a small 
matter: lamp-black and oil were still plentiful, and, after 
half an hour of hard work, they shone black and re- 
splendent. But my #2000 coat : it was only in embryo. 
There was no hope of its being finished in time. What 
was to be done ? Coats were coats in those days, and not 
to be found hanging on every bush. Vainly, here and 
there, I sought for the wedding garment. Every one 
whose coat miglit fit me was as intent as myself upon 
attending that entertainment. 

We were talking it over at the mess, when, to my great 
relief, Barksdale Warwick, one of my father's aids, 
took me aside and whispered to me that he would be on 
duty the day of the wedding, and, if I could use it, I 
might wear his new coat. Now " Barkey " was a first 
lieutenant in the " Canaries," as we called the staff, while 
I was only a subaltern in the " Blues," as they dubbed 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 399 

the infantry : arrayed in his coat with buff trimmings, 
with infantry stripes on my trousers, my attire would 
indeed be somewhat incongruous. President Davis, or 
the Secretary of War, if there, might, on close scrutiny, 
wonder what branch of service I represented. But these 
were minor considerations, for I was going to that ball, 
and this was my last chance. 

The real question was not one of style, but one of fit. 
Ay, there was the rub ! for Barksdale Warwick was 
fully six feet high, and thin as a riding-whip, while I was 
short, and plump as a partridge. But I gratefully ac- 
cepted a note to his mother, and, on the day of the wed- 
ding, marched proudly to my lodgings with the coveted 
article under my arm. 

It was not without grave misgivings that I stepped 
forth attired for the wedding. The length of Barks- 
dale's waist was such that the bottom buttons of that 
coat somewhat constrained the movement of my hips ; 
the coat-tails nearly reached my ankles ; as for the 
sleeves, I was fortunate to get occasional glances at my 
finger-tips. The whole effect was to give me the appear- 
ance of a giant in body, a dwarf in legs, and an unfortu- 
nate who had lost both hands. As I came downstairs, 
drawing on a pair of new white thread-gloves, a married 
sister nearly paralyzed me by a well-intended compliment 
upon my "nice new overcoat," and my witty wag of a 
sister, whose escort I was, shrieked with merriment at my 
remarkable attire. 

But what cared I ? I would have gone in a meal-sack. 
The larger the coat, the better ; it gave more commodious 
opportunity to fill it with Mr. Rutherford's good cheer. 
At church, the judicious handling of a military cape 
veiled somewhat this extraordinary outfit ; but when the 
house was reached, no subterfuges longer availed. We 



400 THE END OF AN ERA 

stood revealed and undisguised, such as we were. If my 
appearance was extraordinary, in the vernacular of to- 
day, " there were others." The men had misfits of many 
makes ; some even displayed patches. As for the cos- 
tumes of the ladies, they were wonderful to behold. 
They seemed to have ransacked every old trunk in the 
garrets of Richmond, and some had actvially utilized the 
lace and damask window-curtains of peace times. But a 
jollier and happier seeming throng was never assembled. 

Tent-flies inclosed the large rear veranda, where a mili- 
tary band was stationed ; holly and all kinds of evergreen 
had been used for decoration. The bride and groom re- 
ceived under an immense wedding bell of evergreens, a 
token of love for their colonel, made with their own 
hands, from the bushes growing about them, by the men 
of Tabb's regiment. Who were there ? Everybody that 
was anybody. 

There was Mr. President Davis : he was assuredly a 
very clean-looking man ; his manners were those of a dig- 
nified, gracious gentleman accustomed to good society. 
He claimed his tribute kiss from the bride, and well he 
might, for seldom had he culled one more sweet or pure. 
From the blushing girl he turned with a gracious compli- 
ment to her husband : " For a bribe like that, colonel, 
you may demand a week's extension of your leave." 
Tabb, with his hazel eyes, his red-brown hair and beard, 
and two brilliant hectic spots glowing upon his cheeks, 
towered above him, smiling, bowing, and supremely 
happy. Mr. Davis looked thin and careworn. Natu- 
rally refined in his appearance, his hair and beard were 
bleaching rapidly ; and his bloodless cheeks and slender 
nose, with its clear-cut, flat nostril, gave him almost the 
appearance of emaciation. Yet his eye was bright, his 
smile was winning, and manner most attractive. When 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 401 

he chose to be deferential and kindly, no man could excel 
him. When strongly moved, few men of his day sur- 
passed him in eloquence. On occasion, he could touch 
the popular heart with a master hand. On his arm was 
Mrs. Davis, his very opposite in physique, looking as if, 
to use an old expression, " the gray mare was the better 
horse." Physically, she was large and looked well fed. 
Among us " irreverents," it was believed that Mrs. Davis 
possessed great influence over her husband, even to the 
point that she could secure promotion for us, if she liked. 
She was intensely loyal to him, took no pains to conceal 
her pride in him, and was, perhaps, a trifle quick to 
show resentment towards those not as enthusiastic as she 
thought they shovdd be in their estimate of his abilities. 
She had, among those who knew her best, warm, enthusi- 
astic friends. 

Close upon these came young Burton Harrison, the 
President's private secretary, looking like a fashion-plate 
in his perfect outfit. Harrison was popular, and every- 
body had some cordial inquiry as to how he maintained 
such an immaculate wardrobe, when all the world besides 
was in rags. Speaking a gracious word here and there 
as he passed on, he soon joined willowy Connie Cary for 
a waltz. 

When Breckinridge, Secretary of War, strode up, he 
brought the perfume of Kentucky Bourbon with him. As 
he and Tabb stood side by side, one thought of the wide- 
spreading forest oak topping up beside the slender pine. 
There was the frankness of the soldier, the breadth of 
the statesman, the heartiness and courtesy to woman, of 
the Southern man of the world, in his every look and 
word. 

The oleaginous Benjamin, Secretary of State, next 
glided in, his keg-like form and over-deferential manner 



402 THE END OF AN ERA 

suggestive of a prosperous shopkeeper. But his eye 
redeemed him, and his speech was elegantly polished, 
even if his nose was hooked and his thick lijjs shone red 
amidst the curly black of his Semitic beard. Tabb, 
looking down upon him, suggested a high-bred grey- 
hound condescending towards a very clever pug. 

Then bluff old Secretary Mallory of the Navy came, — 
with no studied speech, but manly, frank, and kind, — one 
of the most popular members of the Confederate Cabinet. 
After him, Postmaster-General R^gan, of Texas, a large, 
plain-looking citizen, of more than ordinary common 
sense, but ill at ease in gatherings like this, and looking 
as if he might have left his carry-log and yoke of oxen at 
the door. 

And so it went. There was Olivero Andrews, the most 
insinuating beau of the capital ; and^Cooper de Leon, the 
poet, wit, and wag ; and John M. Daniel, the vitriolic 
editor of the " Examiner," whose mission seemed to be 
to torture the administration with the criticism of his 
scathing pen ; and Willie Myers, soldier, dandy, dilet- 
tante artist, and exquisite ; and the pompous fellow, blaz- 
ing with gilt, and bearded like a pard, derisively called 
" the Count,' who was best known for his constant ab- 
sence from the front without leave when his command was 
engaged ; and Baron Heros von Boerck, a giant German, 
who had come to fight as a volunteer upon Jeb Stuart's 
staff. O Vanity Fair of the dead Confederacy! How 
your actors troop before me once again ! 

" Who is the red-headed fellow with the voice like a 
foghorn?" I asked of a companion, as I pointed to a 
young subaltern standing in a group of men and women, 
who were convulsed at some extravagant story he was 
telling. 

" Tom Ochiltree, of course," said she. " He is the 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 403 

young Texan who distinguished himself at the battle o£ 
Valverde, and afterwards as volunteer aid to Longstreet 
in the seven days' fighting. He is the most unique char- 
acter in Richmond, and is counted one of the bravest 
fellows and truest friends, and at the same time one of 
the drollest raconteurs, in all the world." A fresh peal 
of merriment from the throng about him almost drowned 
her last words. 

" And who is the classic-looking young fellow near him, 
with the scars upon his face ? " I asked. 

" That is Clarence Prentice," she said ; " the oddest 
fish in all the Confederacy. The scars you see are sou- 
venirs of Heidelberg, not wounds received in battle, 
although he has been in many fights. He looks like a 
poet or musician, but that man is everything : he playa 
divinely, speaks many tongues, is an exquisite dancer, 
sings like an angel, gets drunk, kills men, gambles, and 
is altogether startling. According to the mood in which 
you find him, he is a gentleman or ruffian, athlete, all- 
round sportsman, exquisite, desperado, or eccentric." 

" And who are the ladies of the coterie ? " 

" Oh," she said, " that is what we call the White 
House set. The two large girls in white are the Misses 
Howell, sisters of Mrs. Davis. The handsome blonde is 
the daughter of Senator Wigfall, of Texas ; the striking 
girl in pink is Miss Campbell, daughter of the Confed- 
erate Chief Justice, Judge Campbell, of New Orleans." 

" And who is this Burmese elephant ? " I asked, as men 
and women fell back before a great waddling mass of obe- 
sity, who, in gray clothes and not over-neat linen, came 
elbowing his way into the room, puffing like a porpoise. 

" That," said she, " is General Humphrey Marshall, of 
Kentucky. They say he was a brave general, and is a 
shrewd and brilliant politician ; in fact, almost a statesman. 



404 THE END OF AN ERA 

He is at present in the Confederate Congress. His chief 
prominence now is as the most inveterate gambler and 
hon-vivant in Richmond. He is the man who stakes 
thousands on the turn of a card, and, while waiting, 
lights his 'f 10 cigars with #5 Confederate bills." 

In this grand rush of humanity there was more than 
life enough, and enough that was startling ; but how in 
contrast with the gentle, elevating refinement of bygone 
days ! The grosser breath of war had penetrated even to 
the innermost circle of society, and given it a heat and 
noise and indiscriminateness which, to speak mildly, was 
new, and by no means an improvement upon old manners 
and old customs. 

As I saw them, it seemed to me that the men intrusted 
with the civic administration of the Confederate govern- 
ment were not of as fine clay as her immortal soldiers, 
nor was it, I believe, a mere boyish fancy. Time has 
deepened the impression. 

The crush was becoming less dense. The older folk 
remained but a little while. The numbers of the guests 
necessitated providing refreshments for the most distin- 
guished and the elderly people first, and for the young 
folk a little later. 

The President and his cal)inet had disappeared. The 
stars of the generals went one by one into eclipse behind 
the doors of the banquet-halls. Even colonels were rare. 
Majors, captains, and lieutenants were of the grades 
whence drafts were made for dancers, and here and 
there might even be seen a saucy private ; for, in our 
army, many a private soldier was socially the peer of any- 
body. 

A band of musicians with stringed instruments filed 
into the drawing-rooms when they were sufficiently cleared 
of the crowd to admit of dancing. Taking their position 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 405 

in a corner, the tuning and preliminary flourishes began, 
and people sought their partners for the cotilliou. 

Until now, I had felt abashed by the presence of distin- 
guished people and superior officers ; but when it came 
to dancing, I considered that I was in my proper element. 
Recollections of cadet triumphs were still fresh. So forth 
I sallied for a partner. Meanwhile, a dreamy waltz 
floated through the rooms, and the " White House set " 
led off. Most striking among them was that Porthos 
Von Boerck dancing with one of the lovely Carys. But 
more striking still were the remarkable sounds which he 
emitted when the dance was finished. Von Boerck, while 
riding with Stuart, had been shot through the windpipe. 
The injury caused him, when breathing hard, to utter a 
sound like that made by a "roaring horse." After the vio- 
lent exercise of waltzing, in defiance of instructions from 
his surgeon, the great rosy fellow stood leaning against a 
pillar, fanning his flushed face, and emitting this remark- 
able noise. His fair companion was at first alarmed. 
When assured that it was not dangerous, and would cease 
in a few moments, her sense of the ludicrous overcame 
both her fear and her sympathy, and she called to her 
companions to " come and hear Von Boerck whistle." Poor 
Von Boerck ! That most amiable and brave follow — a 
universal favorite for both qualities among the girls — 
was nearly overcome by this ridiculous exposure. As the 
laughing maidens congregated about him, he grew red, 
and protested, in his awkward German way : " Oh-h ! 
Whew-w! — I beg you — whew-w! — spare me — whew-w!" 
But they did not spare him, and clapped their little 
hands with merriment. At last, roaring, and enjoying his 
own discomfiture as much as anybody, he burst through 
their ranks, and fled to the cool veranda to recover his 
composure and allow his whistle to subside. 



406 THE END OF AN ERA 

My efforts to secure a partner were futile in several 
directions. Nearly all the girls had escorts. Several 
looked askance and declined, in a way which made me 
doubt whether my costume was altogether a success. Just 
as I was growing despondent, our gracious hostess ap- 
proached and said, " Come with me. I have a charming 
partner for you." Then, threading our way to a corner, I 
was presented. Charming the young lady was, beyond 
question ; and desirable, no doubt, in many ways ; but 
candor compels the admission that she was older than 
myself, and not beautiful. And her dress? Oh, that 
costume ! Shall I ever forget it ? 

Experience had not taught me then how dangerous a 
thing it is to permit a hostess, when the music has struck 
up and the sets are actually forming, to seize one and 
drag him to a " charming " girl. A year in society, nay, 
a month, teaches us that " charming " girls of that de- 
scription have some inherent disqualification ; for the 
young and pretty never have to invoke the aid of the 
hostess at so late an hour. 

There she was, however, and it was too late to recede, 
even if I had wished to do so. I did not wish to recede. 
Why should I ? She was gracious, refined, and not a 
whit more anxious for a partner than I was myself. Oh, 
yes, our families were intimate. Yes, I was aware that 
she knew my sisters. I did not mention that I knew she 
was schoolmate of an elder sister, now married. We 
were out for pleasant, not for unpleasant, speeches. Thus 
we chatted as we stood waiting in our places in the 
quadrille. 

I could not help observing her costume. Indeed, she 
herself told me that the dress was her grandmother's, 
worn when La Fayette came to Richmond in 1824. She 
had discovered it in an old trunk. I think I never saw 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 407 

anything, either before or afterwards, exactly like it. I 
cannot, for lack of te(!hnical knowledge, correctly describe 
female attire, but from such vague efforts as I make, 
those versed in costuming may gain some idea concern- 
ing it. 

First of all, the lady, viewed laterally, was the flattest 
lady I ever beheld. Viewed from front or rear, she was 
unusually wide. The laced bodice was cut with becoming 
modesty about the neck, but that same bodice ran down- 
ward to a j)oint, until I thought it would never stop. I 
think that, in the vernacular of the times of its construc- 
tion, it was called a stomacher. Viewed from rear, never 
another back was so long, unless it was my own in Barks- 
dale Warwick's coat. At the hips, the dress rose up in 
fluffs. In coloring and texture, it resembled certain flow- 
ered goods I have since seen used in upholstering parlor 
furniture. The head-gear accompanying it was indescrib- 
able. Maybe it was Pompadour. There were ostrich- 
feathers with it. I think she said she wore prunella slip- 
pers. Possibly it was some other kind. All this I saw 
and learned as we were waiting for the music to strike up. 
More I saw, and I heartily wish I had not, for it cost me 
a newly formed and valued friendship. As we stood there 
waiting, two mischievous girls — one a blonde, the other a 
brunette, the brightest pair of wags and wits in Kichmond 
— were leaning over a large sofa at the further end of 
the room. They had preferred not to dance. There 
they stood watching, laughing, giggling, observing every- 
thing that was grotesque, and making comments which 
were simply convulsing to all hearers. They were my 
choicest intimates. At an unlucky moment, I caught 
their wicked eyes. They were carefully dissecting the 
appearance of my partner and myself. Knowing what 
was coming, with a pleasant reprobatory smile I pleaded 



408 THE END OF AN ERA 

with my eyes that they should not laugh at us, as if to 
say, " I don't mind it for myself, but the lady is a compar- 
ative stranger, and you must not embarrass her." 

I might as well have tried to check the incoming tide. 
They had seen us. They were watching us, wild with 
merriment. They were pointing at us. They were at- 
tracting the attention of others to us. I saw it. I knew 
intuitively the inimitably funny things they were saying. 
Their mirth was infectious, and I was scarce able to give 
heed to the polite speeches my companion was making, or 
to suppress the rebellious twitchings of my mouth. But 
I did not quite realize how absurd our appearance really 
was. Thus charged with merriment, I bowed, as the 
music sounded for the dance. 

A scream behind us nearly threw me off my balance. 
My partner, all unconscious of the by-play, was serene 
and gracious. On the opposite wall hung an old-fashioned 
mirror, slightly convex, ornamented with a spread-eagle 
over its top. It shone like burnished steel, but it was so 
tilted against the wall that one could only see one's self 
when near the middle of the room. " Balance to the 
centre." We were doing famously. Holding her tiny 
hand, we balanced forth. She was speaking low, and was 
saying something very captivating. I had regained con- 
trol of my risibles. Oh ! why did I look up ? Why did 
I catch, in that old mirror, the full reflections of our- 
selves ? The effect was irresistible. I gave one fatal 
snort, — that snort which is so deadly to all check of 
mirth when we are striving hardest to control ourselves. 
I was hopelessly gone. I clapped both hands to my face, 
and laughed and laughed until the tears ran down my 
cheeks. 

Wonder, perplexity, wrath, in turn came over the face 
of my partner. She could not understand. I could not 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 409 

explain. We finished the figure in silence. At its con- 
clusion, she asked that I take her to some friends. She 
bowed frigidly to me, as if to say, ." Go ! " and go I went. 
She never again so much as nodded her head to me. I 
rushed back to my tormentors to reproach them. They 
called me " Wheelbench," and laughed anew. It was the 
name of a certain breed of little vagabond dogs noted for 
their long bodies and short legs. My rage only added 
fuel to the flames of their ridicule. Never did such an 
attired pair dance together, I ween. Never were there 
such hilarious spectators. 

A Cruikshank, a Nast, a Davenport might have sup- 
plied himself for life with caricatures at that memorable 
gathering. For myself, I danced no more that night. 

About midnight, a new and distinct coterie of guests 
arrived. 

They were a party of hon-vivant friends of the host. 
By one means or another, this band secured the best to 
be had. To this feast of their companion, each and all 
had made their contribution. And now they had come to 
join him in celebrating the happy event of his daughter's 
marriage, and to partake of his good cheer. 

There was big John Carvell, the Canadian blockade- 
runner, who had sent a few bottles of champagne, — a 
luxviry then almost beyond price ; and Major Robert Ould, 
the Confederate Commissioner of Exchange of Prisoners, 
who never failed to secure for himself, on his trip down 
the river to meet the Union Commissioners of Exchano^e, 
an ample supply of the best food and drink ; and Major 
" Buck " Allen, of Claremont, whose cellars were still 
unexhausted ; and young Hatch, of Missouri, Assistant 
Commissioner of Exchange ; and Major Legh Page, and 
Major Isaac Carrington, of the Subsistence Department. 

There was an air of business about these men. They 



410 THE END OF AN ERA 

had come for good clieer. What o£ creature comforts 
they did not secure was simply not to be had. What this 
party enjoyed in their private room, what cigars they 
smoked, what games they played with their host, how 
long they stayed, is beyond my ken. All that we lesser 
lights knew was that they had the reputation of being the 
only habitually well-fed and luxurious citizens of Rich- 
mond. 

Supper for the general public was announced in due 
time, and, doubt it as you may, it was a sumptuous 
repast. 

There were no sweets and ices, such as are seen in pip- 
ing times of peace. But there was ornamentation ! The 
pyramids, built of little balls of butter, were really pretty. 
They towered like the spun sugar, and nougat, or divided 
oranges, we see to-day. And great piles of rosy apples 
gave color to the feast. Terrapin, canvas-back ducks, 
pates, and the like were missing. Our friends, the enemy, 
had even cut us off from oysters. But there were tur- 
keys and hams and delicious breads, and most beautifully 
stuffed eggs, and great piles of smoking sausages, and 
dishes of unsurpassed domestic pickles. There were no 
oils for salads, no sugar for preserves. Some one had 
given the bride a wedding present of coffee, and the rooms 
were filled with its delightful aroma. This we drank 
sugarless, with great gusto. Great bowls of apple toddy, 
hot and cold, filled with roasted pippins, stood on the 
tables, and furnished all needful warmth and cheerfulness 
for any wedding feast. 

So you see, dear readers, that, even to the last, there 
were times and places in the Confederacy where we got 
together and did like other and more prosperous folk, — 
" Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you die." 

In the gray of a winter morning, the cold bright stars 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 411 

twinkling above us, we men and women sought our homes 
afoot. Vehicles and horses were not to be had for love or 
money. Gathering their dainty skirts about them, matron 
and jnaid^ who in other days had never walked three 
blocks away from home, picked their way through the 
deserted streets, laughing over the delightful scenes they 
had left behind. They laid their heads upon their pillows 
that night, happy, not discontented, because of the sacri- 
^ces they had made for a cause we all loved. 
, " Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye die." Let 
us not inquire how many of the gallant souls who laughed 
and danced and ate and drank that night fulfilled the 
whole prophecy in the whirlwind of war which swept from 
Richmond to Petersburg, from Petersburg to Appomat- 
tox, in the next three months. The story is sad enough 
without such details. 

" Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye die." 
Within five years from that joyous night, the blooming 
bride was laid to rest in her Confederate wedding-gown. 
Within a decade, her parents, host and hostess of that 
night, slept side by side in the cemetery at Hollywood ; 
and the soldier-groom, spared by the bolts of war, but 
undermined in health by the exposure of the camp, lost a 
sweet life for a cause which was already lost. 

The places which knew them know them no more. 
Their names are almost forgotten now, under the rule of 
another king that knew not Joseph. 

So wags the world away. 



CHAPTER XXV 

THE END IN SIGHT 

At the time of tlie evacuation of Richmond, in 1865, I 
had been in the Confederate army for about ten months, 
had reached the mature age of eighteen, and had attained 
the rank of lieutenant. I was for the time at Clover Sta- 
tion, on the Richmond and Danville Railroad, south of the 
fallen capital. A light glimmered in headquarters and at 
the telegraph station. Suspecting that news of importance 
had been received, and knowing the telegraph operator 
well, I repaired to his office. He was sitting at his instru- 
ment, closely attentive to its busy clicking. 

" Any news, Tom ? " inquired I. 

Holding up his hand he said, " Yes ! hush ! " and con- 
tinued to listen. Then, seizing his pad and pencil, he 
wrote rapidly. Again the clicking of the instrument 
began, and he resumed his attitude of intent listening. 
He was catching messages passing over the lines to Dan- 
ville. During a lull, he informed me that heavy fighting 
on the right of the army at Five Forks had been going 
on all day, in which the slaughter on both sides had been 
very great, and that there were reports of the evacua- 
tion of Petersburg. Repairing to the quarters of General 
Walker, I found that he had substantially the same ad- 
vices. Vainly and despondently we waited until late at 
night for more particulars. 

Sunday morning broke clear and calm. It was one of 
the first of those heavenly spring days which to me seem 



THE END IN SIGHT 413 

brighter in Virginia than elsewhere. Sitting in a sunny 
spot near the telegraph station, a party of staff officers 
waited for telegrams until nearly eleven o'clock. Then 
a storm of news broke upon us, every word of which was 
freighted with deep import to our cause. 

Click — click — click. "Our lines in front of Peters- 
burg were broken this morning. General Lee is retiring 
from the city." 

Click — click — click. " General A. P. Hill was 
killed." 

Click — click — click. " Colonel William Pegram of 
the artillery also killed." 

Click — click — click. " In the battle of Five Forks, 
which continued until long after dark last night, Pickett 
was overwhelmed by Sheridan with a greatly superior 
force of cavalry and infantry, and the enemy is now 
endeavoring to turn our right, which is retiring toward 
the Appomattox, to make a stand there." 

Click — click — click. " Petersburg is evacuated. Our 
army in full retreat toward Burke ville." 

Click — click — click. " General Lee has notified the 
President that he can no longer hold Richmond, and 
orders have been issued for the immediate evacuation of 
the city. The town is the scene of the utmost turmoil 
and confusion." 

General Walker issued the necessary commands to 
place our own house in order. There was not much to 
be done. Such government stores and provisions as were 
at our post were promptly put on freight cars, and every 
preparation was made for an orderly departure, if neces- 
sary. We expected that Lee would make a stand at or 
near Burkeville, forty miles distant, and that, if he must, 
he would retreat along the line of the Richmond and Dan- 
ville Railroad. From the accounts of the fighting, I felt 



414 THE END OF AN ERA 

sure that my father's command was in the thick of it ; and 
this fear gave an added trouble to the gloomy reflections 
of those sad hours. 

When we recall the way in which the most startling 
events in our lives have hajapened, we note how differently 
they unfolded themselves from our previous thought of 
them. Nay, more : we all recall that when great events, 
which we had anticipated as possible or probable, have 
actually begun to occur, we have failed to recognize them. 
So it was now with me. That the war might end dis- 
astrously to the Confederacy, I had long regarded as a 
possibility ; that our army was sadly depleted and in 
great want, I knew ; but that it was literally worn out 
and killed out and starved out, I did not realize. The 
idea that within a week it would stack arms at Appomat- 
tox, surrender, and be disbanded did not enter into my 
mind even then. I still thought that it would retreat, 
and, abandoning Richmond, fall back to some new posi- 
tion, where it would fight many other battles before the 
issue was decided. 

A few hours later, train after train, all loaded to their 
utmost capacity with whatever could be transported from 
the doomed capital, came puffing past Clover Station on 
the way southward. These trains bore many men who, in 
the excitement, were unwilling to admit that all was lost. 
They frankly deplored the necessity of giving up the Con- 
federate capital, but insisted that the army was not beaten 
or demoralized, and was retreating in good order. They 
argued that Lee, relieved of the burden of defending his 
long lines from Richmond to Petersburg, and of the hard 
task of maintaining his communications, would draw Grant 
away fi-om his base of supplies, and might now, with that 
generalship of which we all knew him to be master, be 
free to administer a stunning if not a crushing blow to 



THE END IN SIGHT 415 

Grant in the open, where strategy might overcome force. 
These arguments cheered and revived me. I hoped it 
might so turn out. I dared not ask myself if I believed 
that it would. 

Monday morning, April 3, a train passed Clover bear- 
ing the President, his Cabinet and chief advisers, to Dan- 
ville. They had left Richmond after the midnight of that 
last Sunday when Mr. Davis was notified, while attending 
St. Paul's Church, that the immediate evacuation of the 
city was unavoidable. Mr. Davis sat at a car window. 
The crowd at the station cheered. He smiled and acknow- 
ledged their compliment, but his expression showed phy- 
sical and mental exhaustion. Near him sat General Bragg, 
whose shaggy eyebrows and piercing eyes made him look 
like a much greater man than he ever proved himself to 
be. In this car was my brother-in-law, Dr. Garnett, fam- 
ily physician to Mr. Davis. I entered, and sat with him 
a few minutes, to learn what I could about the home folk. 
His own family had been left at his Richmond residence, 
to the mercy of the conqueror. The presidential train 
was followed by many others. One bore the archives and 
employees of the Treasury Department, another those of 
the Post Office Department, another those of the War 
Department. I knew many in all these departments, and 
they told me the startling incidents of their sudden flight. 

I saw a government on wheels. It was the marvelous 
and incongruous debris of the wreck of the Confederate 
capital. There were very few women on these trains, but 
among the last in the long procession were trains bearing 
indiscriminate cargoes of men and things. In one car was 
a cage with an African parrot, and a box of tame squir- 
rels, and a hunchback! Everybody, not excepting the 
parrot, was wrought up to a pitch of intense excitement. 
The last arrivals brought the sad news that Richmond 



416 THE END OF AN ERA 

was in flames. Our departing troops had set fire to the 
tobacco warehouses. The heat, as it reached the hogs- 
heads, caused the tobacco leaves to expand and burst their 
fastenings, and the wind, catching up the burning tobacco, 
spread it in a shower of fire upon the doomed city. It 
was after dark on Monday when the last train from Rich- 
mond passed Clover Station bound southward. We were 
now the northern outpost of the Confederacy. Nothing 
was between us and the enemy except Lee's army, which 
was retreating toward us, — if indeed it were coming 
in this direction. All day Tuesday, and until midday 
Wednesday, we waited, expecting to hear of the arrival 
of our army at Burkeville, or some tidings of its where- 
abouts. But the railroad stretching northward was as 
silent as the grave. The cessation of all traffic gave our 
place a Sabbath stillness. Until now, there had been the 
constant rumble of trains on this main line of supplies to 
the army. After the intense excitement of Monday, when 
the whole Confederate government came rushing past at 
intervals of a few minutes, the unbroken silence reminded 
one of death after violent convulsions. 

We still maintained telegraphic communication with 
Burkeville, but we could get no definite information con- 
cerning the whereabouts of Lee. Telegrams received 
Tuesday informed us he was near Amelia Court House. 
Wednesday morning we tried in vain to call up Amelia 
Court House. A little later, Burkeville reported the wires 
cut at Jetersville, ten miles to the north, between Burke- 
ville and Amelia Court House. When General Walker 
heard this, he quietly remarked, " They are pressing him 
off the line of this road, and forcing him to retreat by the 
Southside Road to Lynchburg." I knew the topography 
of the country well enough to realize that if the army 
passed Burkeville Junction, moving westward, our posi- 



THE END IN SIGHT 417 

tlon would be on the left flank and rear o£ the Union 
army, and that we must retire or be captured. Many 
messages came from Mr. Davis at Danville, inquiring for 
news from General Lee. Shortly after General Walker 
reported that the wires were cut at Jetersville, another 
message came from Mr. Davis. He asked if General 
Walker had a trusted man or officer who, if supplied with 
an engine, would venture down the road toward Burke- 
ville, endeavor to communicate with General Lee, ascer- 
tain from him his situation and future plans, and report 
to the President. I was present when this telegram 
arrived. By good luck, other and older officers were ab- 
sent. The suspense and inactivity of the past three days 
had been unendurable, and I volunteered gladly for the 
service. At first, General Walker said that I was too 
young ; but after considering the matter, he ordered me 
to hold myself in readiness, and notified Mr. Davis that 
he had the man he wanted, and requested him to send 
the engine. The engine, with tender and a baggage car, 
arrived about eight p. m. 

General Walker summoned me to headquarters, and 
gave me my final instructions. Taking the map, he 
showed me that in all probability the enemy had forced 
General Lee westward from Burkeville, and that there 
was danger of finding the Union troojis already there. I 
was to proceed very slowly and cautiously. If the enemy 
was not in Burkeville, I must use my judgment whether 
to switch my train on the Southside Road and run west- 
ward, or to leave the car and take a horse. If the enemy 
had reached Burkeville, as he feared, I was to run back 
to a station called Meherrin, return the engine, secure a 
horse, and endeavor to reach General Lee. " The reason 
that I suspect the presence of the enemy at Burkeville," 
said he, " is that this evening, after a long silence, we have 



418 THE END OF AN ERA 

received several telegrams purporting to come from Gen- 
eral Lee, urging the forwarding of stores to that point. 
From the language used, I am satisfied that it is a trick 
to capture the trains. But I may be mistaken. You 
must be careful to ascertain the facts before you get too 
close to the place. Do not allow yourself to be captured." 

The general was not a demonstrative man. He gave 
me an order which Mr. Davis had signed in blank, in 
which my name was inserted by General Walker, setting 
forth that, as special messenger of the President, I was 
authorized to impress all necessary men, horses, and pro- 
visions to carry out my instructions. He accompanied me 
to the train, and remarked that he had determined to try 
me, as I seemed so anxious to go ; that it was a delicate 
and dangerous mission, and that its success depended 
upon my quickness, ability to judge of situations as they 
arose, and powers of endurance. He ordered the engineer, 
a young, strong fellow, to place himself implicitly under • 
my command. I threw a pair of blankets into the car, 
shook hands cordially with the general, buttoned my 
papers in my breast pocket, and told the engineer to 
start. I did not see General Walker again for more than 
twenty years. 

I carried no arms except a navy revolver at my hip, 
with some loose cartridges in my haversack. The night 
was chilly, still, and overcast. The moon struggled out 
now and then from watery clouds. We had no headlight, 
nor any light in the car. It seemed to me that our train 
was the noisiest I had ever heard. The track was badly 
worn and very rough. In many places it had been bol- 
stered up with beams of wood faced with strap iron, and 
we were compelled to move slowly. The stations were 
deserted. We had to put on our own wood and water. 
I lay down to rest, but nervousness banished sleep. The 



THE END IN SIGHT 419 

solitude of the car became unbearable. When we stopped 
at a water-tank, I swung down from the car and clam- 
bered up to the engine. Knowing that we might have to 
reverse it suddenly, I ordered the engineer to cut loose 
the baggage car and leave it behind. This proved to be 
a wise precaution. 

About two o'clock, we reached Meherrin Station, twelve 
miles south of Burke ville. It was dark, and the station 
was deserted. I succeeded in getting an answer from an 
old man in a house near by, after hammering a long time 
upon the door. He had heard us, but he was afraid to 
reply. 

" Have you heard anything from Lee's army? " I asked. 

" Naw, nothin' at all. I heerd he was at Amelia Cote 
House yisterday." 

" Have you heard of or seen any Yankees hereabouts ? " 

" None here yit. I heerd there was some at Green Bay 
yisterday, but they had done gone back." 

" Back where ? " 

" I dunno. Back to Grant's army, I reckin." 

" Where is Grant's army ? " 

" Gord knows. It 'pears to me like it 's everywhar." 

" Are there any Yankees at Burkeville ? " 

" I dunno. I see a man come by here late last evenin', 
and he said he come from Burkeville ; so I reckin there 
were n't none thar when he lef ', but whether they is come 
sence, I can't say." 

I determined to push on. When we reached Green 
Bay, eight miles from Burkeville, the place was dark and 
deserted. There was nobody from whom we could get 
information. A whippoorwill in the swamp added to 
the oppressive silence all about. Moving onward, we dis- 
covered, as we cautiously approached a turn in the road 
near Burkeville, the reflection of lights against the low- 



420 THE END OF AN ERA 

hanging clouds. Evidently, somebody was ahead, and 
somebody was building fires. Were these reflections from 
the camp-fires of Lee's or of Grant's army, or of any army 
at all ? On our right, concealing us from the village and 
the village from us, was a body of pine woods. Not until 
we turned the angle of these woods could we see anything. 
I was standing by the engineer. We were both uncertain 
what to do. At first, I thought I would get down and 
investigate ; but I reflected that I should lose much time 
in getting back to the engine, whereas, if I pushed boldly 
forward until we were discovered, I should be safe if those 
who saw us were friends, and able to retreat rapidly if 
they were enemies. 

" Go ahead ! " I said to the engineer. 

" What, lieutenant ? Ain't you afraid they are Yan- 
kees? If they are, we 're goners," said he hesitatingly. 

" Go ahead ! " I repeated ; and in two minutes more 
we were at the curve, with the strong glare of many fires 
lighting up our engine. What a sight ! Lines of men 
were heaving at the rails by the light of fires built for 
working. The fires and working parties crossed our route 
to westward, showing that the latter were devoting their 
attention to the Southside Road. In the excitement of the 
moment, I thought they were destroying the track. In 
fact, as I afterward learned, they were merely changing 
the gauge of the rails. Grant, with that wonderful power 
he possessed of doing everything at once, was already 
altering the railroad gauge so as to fetch provisions up to 
his army. The enemy was not only in Burkeville, but he 
had been there all day, and was thus following up his 
occupation of the place. Lee must be to the north or to 
the west of him, pushed away from Danville Road, and 
either upon or trying to reach the Southside Railroad, 
which led to Lynchburg. All these things I thought out 



THE END IN SIGHT 421 

a little later, but not just at that moment. A blazing 
meteor would not have astonished our foes more than the 
sight of our locomotive. They had not heard our ap- 
proach, amid the noise and confusion of their own work. 
They had no picket out in our direction, for this was their 
rear. In an instant, a number of troopers rushed for their 
horses and came galloping down upon us. They were but 
two or three hundred yards away. 

" Reverse the engine ! " I said to the engineer. He 
seemed paralyzed. I drew my pistol. 

" It 's no use, lieutenant. They '11 kill us before we get 
under away," and he fumbled with his lever. 

" Reverse, or you 're a dead man ! " I shouted, clapping 
the muzzle of my pistol behind his ear. He heaved at the 
lever ; the engine began to move, but how slowly ! The 
troopers were coming on. We heard them cry, " Surren- 
der ! " The engine was quickening her beats. They saw 
that we were running, and they opened fire on us. We 
lay down flat, and let the locomotive go. The fireman on 
the tender was in an exposed position, and seemed to be 
endeavoring to burrow in the coal. A shot broke a win- 
dow above us. Presently the firing ceased. Two or three 
of the foremost of the cavalrymen had tumbled into a 
cattle-guard, in their reckless pursuit. We were safe 
now, except that the engine and tender were in momen- 
tary danger of jumping the rotten track. 

When we were well out of harm's way, the engineer, 
with whom I had been on very friendly terms till this last 
episode, turned to me and asked,, with a grieved look, 
" Lieutenant, would you have blowed my brains out sure 
'nuff, if I had n't done what you tole me ? " 

" I would that," I replied, not much disposed to talk ; 
for I was thinking, and thinking hard, what next to do. 

" Well," said he, with a sigh, as with a greasy rag he 



422 THE END OF AN ERA 

gave a fresh rub to a piece of machinery, " all I 've got to ' 
say is, I don't want to travel with you no mo'." 

" You '11 not have to travel far," I rejoined. " I '11 get 
off at Meherrin, and you can go back." 

" What ! " exclaimed he. " You goiu' to get off there 
in the dark by yourself, with no boss, and right in the 
middle of the Yankees ? Durn my skin if I 'd do it for 
Jeff Davis hisself ! " 

Upon our arrival at Meherrin, I wrote a few lines to 
General Walker, describing the position of the enemy, 
and telling him that I hoped to reach General Lee near 
High Bridge by traveling across the base of a triangle 
formed by the two railroads from Burkeville and my 
route, and that I would communicate with him further 
when I could. 

It was a lonesome feeling that came over me when the 
engine went southward, leaving me alone and in the dark 
at Meherrin. The chill of daybreak was coming on, when 
I stepped out briskly upon a road leading northward. I 
knew that every minute counted, and that there was no 
hope of securing a horse in that vicinity. I think that I 
walked three or four miles. Day broke and the sun rose 
before I came to an opening. A kind Providence must 
have guided my steps, for at the very first house I reached, 
a pretty mare stood at the horse-rack saddled and bridled, 
as if waiting for me. The house was in a grove by the 
roadside. I found a hospitable reception, and was in- 
vited to breakfast. My night's work had made me raven- 
ous. My host was past military age, but he seemed dazed 
at the prospect of falling into the hands of the enemy. I 
learned from him that Sheridan's cavalry had advanced 
nearly to his place the day before. We ate breakfast 
almost in silence. At the table I found Sergeant Wil- 
kins, of the Black Walnut Troop, from Halifax County, 



THE END IN SIGHT 423 

He had been on " horse furlough." Confederate cavalry- 
men supplied their own horses, and his horse furlough 
meant that his horse had broken down, that he had been 
home to replace it, and that he was now returning to duty 
with another beast. His mare was beautiful and fresh, — 
the very animal that I needed. When I told him that I 
must take his horse, he laughed, as if I were joking; then 
he positively refused ; but finally, when I showed the 
sign manual of Jefferson Davis, he yielded, very reluc- 
tantly. It was perhaps fortunate for Sergeant Wilkins 
that he was obliged to go home again, for his cavalry 
command was engaged heavily that day, and every day 
thereafter, until the surrender at Appomattox. 

On the morning of April 6, mounted upon as fine 
a mare as there was in the Confederacy, I saUied forth 
in search of General Lee. I started northward for the 
Southside Railroad. It was not long before I heard can- 
non to the northeast. Thinking that the sounds came 
from the enemy in the rear of Lee, I endeavored to bear 
sufficiently westward to avoid the Union forces. Seeing 
no sign of either army, I was going along leisurely, when 
a noise behind me attracted my attention. Turning in 
my saddle, I saw at a distance of several hundred yards 
the head of a cavalry command coming from the east, and 
turning out of a cross-road that I had passed into the 
road that I was traveling. They saw me, and pretended 
to give chase ; but their horses were jaded, and my mare 
was fresh and swift. The few shots they fired went wide 
of us, and I galloped out of range quickly and safely. 
My filly, after her spin, was mettlesome, and as I held 
her in hand, I chuckled to think how easy it was to keep 
out of harm's way on such a beast. 

But this was not to be my easy day. I was rapidly 
approaching another road, which came into my road from 



424 THE END OF AN ERA 

tlie east. I saw another column of Union cavalry filing 
into my road, and going in the same direction that I 
was going. Here was a pretty pickle ! We were in 
the woods. Did they see me ? To be sure they did. Of 
course they knew of the parallel column of their own 
troops which I had passed, and I think they first mistook 
me for a friend. But I could not ride forward : I should 
have come upon the rear of their column. I could not 
turn back : the cavalry force behind was not a quarter of 
a mile away. I stopped, thus disclosing who I was. Sev- 
eral of them made a dart for me ; several more took shots 
with their carbines ; and once more the little mare and I 
were dashing off, this time through the woods to the west. 

What a bird she was, that little mare ! At a low fence 
in the woods she did not make a pause or blunder, but 
cleared it without turning a hair. I resolved now to get 
out of the way, for it was very evident that I was trying 
to reach General Lee by riding across the advance col- 
umns of Sheridan, who was on Lee's flank. Going at a 
merry pace, just when my heart was ceasing to jump and 
I was congratulating myself upon a lucky escape, I was 
" struck flat aback," as sailors say. From behind a large 
oak a keen, racy-looking fellow stepped forth, and, level- 
ing his cavalry carbine, called " Halt ! " He was not ten 
feet away. 

Halt I did. It is all over now, thought I, for I did not 
doubt that he was a Jesse scout. (That was the name 
applied by us to Union scouts who disguised themselves 
in our uniform.) He looked too neat and clean for one 
of our men. The words " I surrender " were on my lips, 
when he asked, " Who are you ? " I had half a mind to 
lie about it, but I gave my true name and rank. " What 
the devil are you doing here, then ? " he exclaimed, his 
whole manner changing. I told him. " If that is so," 



THE END IN SIGHT 425 

said he, lowering his gun, to my great relief, " I must 
help to get you out. The Yankees are all around us. 
Come on." He led the way rapidly to where his own 
horse was tied behind some cedar bushes, and, mounting, 
bade me follow him. He knew the woods well. As we 
rode along, I ventured to inquire who he was. " Curtis," 
said he, — " one of General Rooney Lee's scouts. I have 
been hanging on the flank of this cavalry for several days. 
They are evidently pushing for the High Bridge, to cut 
the army off from crossing there." 

After telling him of my adventure, I added : " You 
gave me a great fright. I thought you were a Yankee, 
sure, and came near telling you that I was one." 

" It is well you did not. I am taking no prisoners on 
this trip," he rejoined, tapping the butt of his carbine 
significantly. 

" There they go," said he, as we came to an opening 
and saw the Union cavalry winding down a red-clay road 
to the north of us, traveling parallel with our own route. 
" We must hurry, or they '11 reach the Flat Creek ford 
ahead of us. Fitz Lee is somewhere near here, and 
there '11 be fun when he sees them. There are not many 
of them, and they are pressing too far ahead of their 
main column." 

After a sharp ride through the forest, we came to a 
wooded hill overlooking the ford of Flat Creek, a stream 
which runs northward, entering the Appomattox near 
High Bridge. 

" Wait here a moment," said Curtis. " Let me ride 
out and see if we are safe." Going on to a point where 
he could reconnoitre, he turned back, rose in his stirrups, 
waved his hand, and crying, " Come on, quick ! " galloped 
down the hill to the ford. 

I followed ; but he had not accurately calculated the 



426 THE END OF AN ERA 

distance. The head of the column of Union cavalry was 
in sight when he beckoned to me and made his dash. 
They saw him and started toward him. As I was con- 
siderably behind him, they were much nearer to me than 
to him. He crossed safely ; but the stream was deep, and 
by the time I was in the middle, my little mare doing- her 
best with the water up to her chest, the Yankees were in 
easy range, making it uncomfortable for me. The bullets 
were splashing in the water all around me. I threw my- 
self off the saddle, and, nestling close under the mare's 
shoulder, I reached the other side unharmed. Curtis and 
a number of pickets stationed at the ford stood by me 
manfully. The road beyond the ford ran into a deep 
gully and made a turn. Behind the protection of this 
turn, Curtis and the pickets opened fire upon the advan- 
cing cavalry, and held them in check until I was safely 
over. When my horse trotted up with me, wet as a 
drowned rat, it was time for us all to move on rapidly. 
In the afternoon, I heard Fitz Lee j)ouring hot shot into 
that venturesome body of cavalry, and I was delighted 
to learn afterward that he had given them severe pun- 
ishment. 

Curtis advised me to go to Farmville, where I would 
be beyond the chance of encountering more Union cav- 
alry, and then to work eastward toward General Lee. I 
had been upset by the morning's adventures, and I was 
somewhat demoralized. About a mile from Farmville, I 
found myself to the west of a line of battle of infantry, 
formed on a line running north and south, moving toward 
the town. Not doubting they were Union troops, I gal- 
loped off again, and when I entered Farmville I did not 
hesitate to inform the commandant that the Yankees 
were approaching. The news created quite a panic. Ar- 
tillery was put in position and preparations were made to 



THE END IN SIGHT 427 

resist, when it was discovered tliat the troops I had seen 
were a reserve regiment of our own, falling back in line 
of battle to a position near the town. I kept very quiet 
when I heard men all about me swearing that any cow- 
ardly, panic-stricken fool who would set such a report 
afloat ought to be lynched. 

I had now very nearly joined our army, which was 
coming directly toward me. Early in the afternoon, the 
advance of our troops appeared. How they straggled, 
and how demoralized they seemed I Eastward, not far 
from the Flat Creek ford, a heavy fire opened, and con- 
tinued for an hour or more. As I afterward learned, 
Fitz Lee had collided with my cavalry friends of the 
morning, and, seeing his advantage, had availed himself 
of it by attacking them fiercely. To the north, about 
four o'clock, a tremendous fire of artillery and musketry 
began, and continued until dark. I was riding towards 
this firing, with my back to Farmville. Very heavy 
detonations of artillery were followed time and again by 
crashes of musketry. It was the battle of Sailors' Creek, 
the most important of those last struggles of which Grant 
said, " There was as much gallantry displayed by some of 
the Confederates in these little engagements as was dis- 
played at any time during the war, notwithstanding the 
sad defeats of the past weeks." My father's command 
was doing the best fighting of that day. When Ewell 
and Custis Lee had been captured, when Pickett's divi- 
sion broke and fled, when Bushrod Johnson, his division 
commander, left the field ingloriously, my fearless father, 
bareheaded and desperate, led his brigade into action at 
Sailors' Creek, and, though completely surrounded, cut 
his way out, and reached Farmville at daylight with the 
fragments of his command. 

It was long after nightfall when the firing ceased. We 



428 THE END OF AN ERA 

had not then learned the particulars, but it was easy to 
see that the contest had gone against us. The enemy- 
had, in fact, at Sailors' Creek, stampeded the remnant of 
Pickett's division, broken our lines, captured six general 
officers, including Generals Ewell and Custis Lee, and 
burned a large pai't of our wagon trains. As evening 
came on, the road was filled with wagons, artillery, and 
bodies of men, hurrying without organization and in a 
state of panic toward Farmville. I met two general 
officers, of high rank and great distinction, who seemed 
utterly demoralized, and they declared that all was lost. 
That portion of the army which was still unconquered was 
falling back with its face to the foe, and bivouacked with 
its right and left flanks resting upon the Appomattox 
to cover the crossings to the north side, near Farmville. 
Upon reaching our lines, I found the divisions of Field 
and Malone presenting an unbroken and defiant front. 
Passing from camp to camp in search of General Lee, I 
encountered General Mahone, who told me where to find 
General Lee. He said that the enemy had " knocked hell 
out of Pickett." " But," he added savagely, " my fellows 
are all right. We are just waiting for 'em." And so they 
were. When the army surrendered, three days later. Ma- 
hone's division was in better fighting trim and surrendered 
more muskets than any other division of Lee's army. 

It was past midnight when I found General Lee. He 
was in an open field north of Rice's Station and east of 
the High Bridge. A camp-fire of fence-rails was burn- 
ing low. Colonel Charles Marshall sat in an ambulance, 
with a lantern and a lap-desk. He was preparing orders 
at the dictation of General Lee, who stood near, with 
one hand resting on a wheel and one foot upon the end 
of a log, watching intently the dying embers as he spoke 
in a low tone to his amanuensis. 



THE END IN SIGHT 429 

Touching my cap as I rode up, I inquired, " General 
Lee?" 

" Yes," he replied quietly, and I dismounted and ex- 
plained my mission. He examined my autograph order 
from Mr. Davis, and questioned me closely concerning 
the route by which I had come. He seemed especially 
interested in my report of the position of the enemy at 
Burkeville and westward, to the south of his army. 
Then, with a long sigh, he said : " I hardly think it is 
necessary to prepare written dispatches in reply. They 
may be captured. The enemy's cavalry is already flank- 
ing us to the south and west. You seem capable of bear- 
ing a verbal response. You may say to Mr. Davis that, 
as he knows, my original purpose was to adhere to the 
line of the Danville Road. I have been unable to do so, 
and am now endeavoring to hold the Southside Eoad as 
I retire in the direction of Lynchburg." 

" Have you any objective point, general, — any place 
where you contemplate making a stand ? " I ventured 
timidly. 

" No," said he slowly and sadly, " no ; I shall have to 
be governed by each day's developments." Then, with a 
touch of resentment, and raising his voice, he added, " A 
few more Sailors' Creeks and it will all be over — ended 
— just as I have expected it would end from the first." 

I was astonished at the frankness of this avowal to one 
so insignificant as I. It made a deep and lasting impres- 
sion on me. It gave me an insight into the character of 
General Lee which all the books ever written about him 
could never give. It elevated him in my opinion more 
than anything else he ever said or did. It revealed him 
as a man who had sacrificed everything to perform a con- 
scientious duty against his judgment. He had loved the 
Union. He had believed secession was unnecessary ; he 



430 THE END OF AN ERA 

liad looked upon it as hopeless folly. Yet at the call of 
his State he had laid his life and fame and fortune at her 
feet, and served her faithfully to the last. 

After another pause, during which, although he spoke 
not a word and gave not a sign, I could discern a great 
struggle within him, he turned to me and said: "You 
must be very tired, my son. You have had an exciting 
day. Go rest yourself, and report to me at Farmville at 
sunrise. I may determine to send a written dispatch." 
The way in which he called me " my son " made me feel 
as if I would die for him. 

Hesitating a moment, I inquired, " General, can you 
give me any tidings of my father?" 

" Your father ? " he asked. " Who is your father ? " 

" General Wise." 

" Ah ! " said he, with another pause. " No, no. At 
nightfall, his command was fighting obstinately at Sailors' 
Creek, surrounded by the enemy. I have heard nothing 
from them since. I fear they were captured, or — or — 
worse." To these words, spoken with genuine sympathy, 
he added : " Your father's command has borne itself 
nobly throughout this retreat. You may well feel proud 
of him and of it." 

My father was not dead. At the very moment when 
we were talking, he and the remnant of his brigade were 
tramping across the High Bridge, feeling like victors, 
and he, bareheaded and with an old blanket pinned 
around him, was chewing tobacco and cursing Bushrod 
Johnson for running; off and leavinjj him to fio^ht his own 
way out. 

I found a little pile of leaves in a pine thicket, and 
lay down in the rear of Field's division for a nap. Fear- 
ing that somebody would steal my horse, I looped the 
reins around my wrist, and the mare stood by my side. 



THE END IN SIGHT 431 

We were already good friends. Just before daylight, she 
gave a snort and a jerk which nearly dislocated my arm, 
and I awoke to find her alarmed at Field's division, 
which was withdrawing silently and had come suddenly 
upon her. Warned by this incident, I mounted, and 
proceeded toward Farmville, to report, as directed, to 
General Lee for further orders. North of the stream at 
Farmville, in the forks of the road, was the house then 
occupied by General Lee. On the hill behind the house, 
to the left of the road, was a grove. Seeing troops in 
this grove, I rode in, inquiring for General Lee's head- 
quarters. The troops were lying there more like dead 
men than live ones. They did not move, and they had no 
sentries out. The sun was shining upon them as they 
slept. I did not recognize them. Dismounting, and 
shaking an officer, I awoke him with difficulty. He 
rolled over, sat up, and began rubbing his eyes, which 
were bloodshot and showed great fatigue. 

" Hello, John ! " said he. " In the name of all that is 
wonderful, where did you come from ? " It was Lieu- 
tenant Edmund R. Bagwell, of the 46th. The men, a few 
hundred in all, were the pitiful remnant of my father's 
brigade. 

" Have you seen the old general ? " asked Ned. " He 's 
over there. Oh, we have had a week of it ! Yes, this is 
all that is left of us. John, the old man will give you 
thunder when he sees you. When we were coming on 
last night in the dark, he said, ' Thank God, John is out 
of this ! ' Dick ? Why, Dick was captured yesterday 
at Sailors' Creek. He was riding the general's old mare, 
Maggie, and she squatted like a rabbit with him when 
the shells began to fly. She always had that trick. He 
could not make her go forward or backward. You ought 
to have seen Dick belaboring her with his sword. But the 



432 THE END OF AN ERA 

Yanks got him ! " and Ned burst into a laugh as he led 
me where my father was. Nearly sixty years old, he lay, 
like a common soldier, sleeping on the ground among his 
men. 

"We aroused him, and when he saw me, he exclaimed : 
" Well, by great Jehoshaphat, what are you doing here ? 
I thought you, at least, were safe." I hugged him, and 
almost laughed and cried at the sight of him safe and 
sound, for General Lee had made me very uneasy. I told 
him why I was there, 

" Where is General Lee ? " he asked earnestly, spring- 
ing to his feet. " I want to see him again. I saw him 
this morning about daybreak. I had washed my face in 
a mud-puddle, and the red mud was all over it and in 
the roots of my hair. I looked like a Comanche Indian ; 
and when I was telling him how we cut our way out last 
night, he broke into a smile and said, ' General, go wash 
your face ! ' " The incident pleased him immensely, for 
at the same time General Lee made him a division com- 
mander, — a promotion he had long deserved for gal- 
lantry, if not for military knowledge. 

" No, Dick is not captured. He got out, I 'm sure," 
said he, as we walked down the hill together. " He was 
separated from me when the enemy broke our line. He 
was not riding Maggie. I lent her to Frank Johnson. 
He was wounded, and, remembering his kindness to your 
brother Jennings the day he was killed, I tried to save 
the poor fellow, and told him to ride Maggie to the rear. 
Dick was riding his black horse. I know it. When the 
Yankees advanced, a flock of wild turkeys flushed before 
them and came sailing into our lines. I saw Dick gallop 
after a gobbler and shoot him and tie him to his saddle- 
bow. He was coming back toward us when the line 
broke, and, mounted as he was, he has no doubt escaped, 
but is cut off from us by the enemy. 



THE END IN SIGHT 433 

" Yes, the Yanks got the bay horse, and my servants 
Joshua and Smith, and all my baggage, overcoats, and 
plunder. A private soldier pinned this blanket around 
me last night, and I found this hat when I was coming 
ofe the field." 

He laughed heartily at his own plight. I have never 
since seen a catch-pin half so large as that with which his 
blanket was gathered at the throat. As we passed down 
the road to General Lee's headquarters, the roads and 
the fields were filled with stragglers. They moved look- 
ing behind them, as if they expected to be attacked and 
harried by a pursuing foe. Demoralization, panic, aban- 
donment of all hope, appeared on every hand. Wagons 
were rolling along without any order or system. Caissons 
and limber-chests, without commanding officers, seemed 
to be floating aimlessly upon a tide of disorganization. 
Rising to his full height, casting a glance around him 
like that of an eagle, and sweeping the horizon with his 
long arm and bony forefinger, my father exclaimed, " This 
is the end ! " It is impossible to convey an idea of the 
agon)'- and the bitterness of his words and gestures. 

We found General Lee on the rear portico of the house 
that I have mentioned. He had washed his face in a tin 
basin, and stood drying his beard with a coarse towel 
as we approached. " General Lee," exclaimed my father, 
" my poor, brave men are lying on yonder hill more dead 
than alive. For more than a week they have been fight- 
ing day and night, without food, and, by God, sir, they 
shall not move another step until somebody gives them 
something to eat ! " 

" Come in, general," said General Lee soothingly. 
" They deserve something to eat, and shall have it ; and 
meanwhile you shall share my breakfast." He disarmed 
everything like defiance by his kindness. 



434 THE END OF AN ERA 

It was but a few moments, however, before my father 
launched forth in a fresh denunciation of the conduct of 
General Bushrod Johnson in the engagement of the 6th. 
I am satisfied that General Lee felt as he did ; but, assum- 
ing an air of mock severity, he said, " General, are you 
aware that you are liable to court-martial and execution 
for insubordination and disrespect toward your command- 
ing officer ? " 

My father looked at him with lifted eyebrows and 
flashing eyes, and exclaimed : " Shot ! You can't afford to 
shoot the men who fight for cursing those who run away. 
Shot ! I wish you would shoot me. If you don't, some 
Yankee probably will within the next twenty-four hours." 

Growing more serious, General Lee inquired what he 
thought of the situation. 

" Situation ? " said the bold old man. " There is no 
situation ! Nothing remains. General Lee, but to put 
your poor men on your poor mules and send them home 
in time for spring ploughing. This army is hopelessly 
whipped, and is fast becoming demoralized. These men 
have already endured more than I believed flesh and 
blood could stand, and I say to you, sir, emphatically, 
that to prolong the struggle is murder, and the blood of 
every man who is killed from this time forth is on your 
head, General Lee." 

This last expression seemed to cause General Lee great 
pain. With a gesture of remonstrance, and even of im- 
patience, he protested : " Oh, general, do not talk so 
wildly. My burdens are heavy enough. What would 
the country think of me, if I did what you suggest ? " 

" Country be d d ! " was the quick reply. " There 

is no country. There has been no country, general, for a 
year or more. You are the country to these men. They 
have fought for you. They have shivered through a long 



THE END IN SIGHT 435 

winter for you. Without pay or clothes, or care of any 
sort, their devotion to you and faith in you have been the 
only things which have held this army together. If you 
demand the sacrifice, there are still left thousands of us 
who will die for you. You know the game is desperate 
beyond redemption, and that, if you so announce, no man 
or government or people will gainsay your decision. That 
is why I repeat that the blood of any man killed hereafter 
is upon your head." 

General Lee stood for some time at an open window, 
looking out at the throng now surging by upon the roads 
and in the fields, and made no response. Then, turning 
his attention to me, he said cheerfully that he was glad 
my father's plight was not so bad as he had thought it 
might be, at the time of our conversation the night be- 
fore. After a pause, he wrote upon a piece of paper a 
few words to the effect that he had talked with me, and 
that I would make a verbal report. If occasion arose, he 
would give further advices. " This," said he, " you will 
deliver to the President. I fear to write, lest you be cap- 
tured, for those people are already several miles above 
Farmville. You must keep on the north side to a ford 
eight miles above here, and be careful about crossing even 
there." He always referred to the enemy as " those peo- 
ple." Then he bade me adieu, and asked my father to 
come in and share his breakfast. 

I hugged my father in the presence of General Lee, 
and I saw a kindly look in his eyes as he watched us. 
Kemembering that my father had no horse, I said, " Take 
my mare. I can easily get another." 

" What ! " said he, laughing, " a dispatch-bearer giving 
away his horse ! No, sir. That is too pretty a little ani- 
mal to make a present to a Yankee. I know they will 
bag us all, horse, foot, and dragoons, before long. No. 



436 THE END OF AN ERA 

I can walk as well as anybody. Have you any chewing 
tobacco ? " 

I was immensely flattered at this request, and gave him 
a plug of excellent tobacco. It was the first time that he 
had recognized me as entitled to the possession of all the 
*' modern improvements " of a soldier. 

And so 1 left them. As I rode along in search of the 
ford to which General Lee had directed me, I felt that I 
was in the midst of the wreck of that immortal army 
which, until now, I had believed to be invincible. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

THE END 

Eight miles of brisk riding carried me beyond the flot- 
sam and jetsam of the Army of Northern Virginia. I was 
alone in the meadows on the north of the Appomattox 
River. The sun shone brightly, and under the wooded 
bluffs upon the opposite bank of the narrow stream the 
little valley up which my route led was warm and still. 
The dogwood was beginning to bloom ; the grass near the 
river banks was showing the first verdure of spring ; the 
willows overhanging the stream were purpling and swell- 
ing with buds. A cock grouse among the laurels was 
drumming to his mate, and more than once I heard the 
gobble of the wild turkey. Behind me, in the distance, 
were sounds of artillery ; from time to time, our guns 
opened to hold the enemy in check, or he, pursuing, 
availed himself of some eminence to shell our retreating 
masses. In due season the designated ford was reached. 
The little mare, her neck and flanks warm but not heated 
with exercise, waded into the stream up to her knees, and, 
plunging her nose into the water, quenched her thirst. A 
gray squirrel, startled from a hickory near the ford, ran 
out upon a limb, swung himself to another tree, and 
scampered away through the sunlight and the shadows to 
gain his castle in the hollow oak vipon the hillside. In a 
neighboring cedar, a redbird (cardinal grosbeak), warmed 
by the sunlight, uttered the soft call with which he wooes 
his mate in springtime. 



438 THE END OF AN ERA 

How peaceful, how secluded, how inviting to repose, 
seemed this sheltered nook ! It was hard to realize what 
a seething caldron of human life and human passion was 
boiling so near at hand. I needed rest. It was Friday, 
and since I left Clover Station, Wednesday night, I had 
slept but three hours. Oh, the heartache of those last 
eight miles of travel, with time to reflect in solitude upon 
what I had seen ! The hopeless, quiet dignity of Gen- 
eral Lee, the impassioned desperation of my father, were 
present like a nightmare. The shattered idols of boyish 
dreams lay strewn about me on the road along which I 
had been traveling. I had seen commands scattered and 
blasted which, until now, had represented victory or un- 
broken defiance. I had beheld officers who, until yester- 
day, had impersonated to my youthful ardor nothing but 
gallantry, demoralized, separated from their commands, 
and with all stomach gone for further fighting. Ever and 
again, my thoughts went back to the brave troops through 
whose ranks I had ridden the night previous in search of 
General Lee ; and then my pride rose afresh. Yet in my 
heart I knew that they were but a handful to resist the 
armies of Gi'ant ; that the Army of Northern Virginia was 
a thing of the past ; that its surrender was only a question 
of a few days at furthest ; and that the war was virtually 
ended. Then would come the sickening thought, so elo- 
quently expressed by my father, that every man thence- 
forth killed was a noble life literally thrown away. And, 
knowing my father as I did, I felt that it was more than 
likely he would be one of those to fall ; for his counsel 
was not the counsel of a coward. His courage and spirit 
of defiance were still unbroken. His proudest testimo- 
nial is that recorded concerning his conduct on the retreat 
by Fitzhugh Lee, who in describing it declared that, 
until the order of surrender went forth at Appomattox, 



THE END 439 

be fought with the fervor of youth, and exposed himself 
as unhesitatingly as when he was full of hope at the open- 
ing of the war. 

Alone, torn by these bitter thoughts, patriotic and per- 
sonal, exhausted by two days and nights of excitement 
and fatigue, and contemplating with no pleasant anticipa- 
tions seventy miles of hard riding before me, I gathered 
my reins, touched the flank of my horse, and resumed 
my journey. The country south of the Appomattox was 
wooded and somewhat broken. The roads led between 
" hogback " hills, as they are called. I drew out my 
brierwood pipe and consoled myself with a smoke ; for 
among my other military accomplishments I had acquired 
the habit of smoking. 

I was taking it easily, and was riding " woman fashion," 
to rest myself in the saddle. The mare moved quietly 
forward at a fox trot. I felt sure I was well ahead of the 
flanking column of the enemy. Of a sudden my ear 
caught the sound of a human voice. It was distant, — a 
singsong note, resembling the woodland " halloo " we often 
hear. For a moment I thought it might be the voice of 
a darkey singing as he drove his team along. But it 
ceased, and in its place I heard, in a direction which I 
could not determine, sounds like falling rain, with heavy 
drops distinctly audible in the downpour. I recognized 
the sound. 

When we were studying Virgil, our tutor delighted to 
take up those lines of the ^Eneid wherein the poet de- 
scribes the footfall of many horses as the cavalry ap- 
proaches : — 

" It clamor, et agmine facto 
Quadmpedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum." 

After reading them he would look around and ask, " Eh ? 
don't you hear the very sound of the horses' feet in the 



440 THE END OF AN ERA 

words ? " Well, of course we did not, and Parson Dudley 
thought we were trifling young cubs not to see the beauty 
of Virgil's verbal horseplay. Still, the words stuck, and 
I often repeated them afterward. Now, who would have 
imagined that the little Latin I had acquired, partly a 
priori and partly a posteriori, would one day serve to aid 
in escaping capture ? I listened. I repeated : " Quad- 
rupe — dantepu — tremsoni — tuquatit — ungula — cam- 
pum." I said to myself : " That sound is the sound of 
cavalry. That voice was the voice of command. Which 
way shall I go ? " 

" Plague take you, be quiet ! " I said to the mare, slap- 
ping her impatiently on the neck ; for at that moment she 
lifted her head, pointed her ears, and, raising her ribs, 
gave a loud whinny. By good luck, almost at the same 
instant the sound of clashing cymbals and the music of a 
mounted band came through the forest. The hostile forces 
were but a few hundred yards away. As I soon learned, 
they were moving on a road leading to the ford, but enter- 
ing the road that I was traveling just beyond the spot 
where I first heard them. The hill on my left ran down 
to a point where the advancing column was coming into 
the road on which I was. The summit of the hill was 
covered by a thick growth of laurel and pine. I sprang 
from the saddle, led the mare up the hillside, tied her, 
and, reflecting that she might whinny again, left her, ran 
along the hill-crest as near to the enemy as I dared go, 
lay down behind an old log, covered myself with leaves 
and bushes, and was within a hundred yards of the spot 
which the enemy passed. I could see them from behind 
the end of my log. 

" Hurrah ! hurrah ! " they shouted, as the band played 
" Johnny Comes Marching Home." They were elated and 
full of enthusiasm, for the Johnnies were on the run, and 



THE END 441 

the pursuit was now little more than a foot-race. The 
band struck up "Captain Jenks of the Horse Marines" 
as they swept on to the ford, walking, trotting, ambling, 
pacing, their guidons fluttering in the spring breeze. 
*' Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! " How different was the 
cheering from the wild yell to which I was accustomed ! 
I lay there, with my pistol in my hand, watching them, 
really interested in contrasting their good equipment and 
their ardor with the wretched scenes that I had left be- 
hind. A wild turkey hen, startled from her nest near the 
roadside, came flying directly up the hill, alighted on the 
further side of the log behind which I was lying, and, 
squatting low, ran within three feet of my nose. Peering 
into my face with frightened eyes, she gave a *' put ! " of 
amazement and sheered off. I convulsively clutched my 
pistol to shoot her. No, I did not shoot. I had reasons 
for not shooting. But I am sure this was the only wild 
turkey that ever came within range of my weapon with- 
out receiving a salute. 

The cavalcade swept by, and did not suspect my pre- 
sence. When all was still again, hurrying back to the 
filly, I mounted, rode down to the forks of the road, took 
the one that led westward, and galloped away. I felt 
sure, from the rapidity with which I had traveled, that 
this must be the advance of the enemy, and I resolved to 
take no further risks. I was right, for I saw no more 
Union troops. Late that afternoon, in Charlotte County, 
I passed the plantation of Roanoke, once the home of 
John Randolph. It looked desolate and overgrown. 

" Oh, John Randolph, John, John ! " thought I, as I 
rode by, " you have gotten some other Johns, in fact the 
whole breed of Johnnies, into a peck of trouble by the 
governmental notions which you left to them as a legacy. 
By the way, John," changing into a merrier vein, " I wish 



442 THE END OF AN ERA 

some of those thoroughbreds you once owned were still in 
your stables ; my gallant animal is nearly done for by the 
murderous pace of the last six hours." Neither the spirit 
nor the horses of John Randolph responded, either to 
maintain his principles, or to supply me a fresh mount 
from the skeleton stables, and I rode on. 

I reached the Episcopal rectory at Halifax Court House 
after midnight. My brother Henry was the minister. 
He was a glorious fellow, who, if he had not been a 
pi-eacher, would have made a dashing soldier. I ham- 
mered upon the door, and he came down. I was now only 
twenty miles west of my post at Clover Station. I had 
visited him several times while I was quartered there, but 
since the evacuation of Richmond he had heard nothing 
from any of us, although he. had made many inquiries, for 
me particularly. 

When I told him of my last three adventures, he looked 
me over, and, seeing how red my eyes were, said that he 
was afraid I was drunk. " Not much," I replied ; " but 
if you have anything to eat and to drink, get it out 
quickly, for I am nearly famished. You may think I am 
drunk, Henry, but come out and look at the mare. Prob- 
ably you will think she has the delirium tremens." He 
was soon dressed, and we went out to minister to the 
faithful brute. 

She stood with head hung low, her red nostrils distend- 
ing and contracting, her sides heaving, her knees trem- 
bling, her flanks roweled and red, the sweat dripping from 
her wet body. Poor little Tulip (that was her name), I 
had not done it wantonly. I was performing a duty of 
life and death. 

" You cannot ride her to Danville," said Henry, who 
was a good horseman. 

" No, of course not. I came after your bay horse." 



THE END 443 

Henry loved his mare, and under other circumstances 
he would not have listened to such a proposition ; but 
patriotism overcame him, and he simply answered, with 
a sigh, "Very well." 

I count it a creditable episode in my life that I took 
off my coat, tired as I was, and gave Tulip a good rubbing 
down, and fed her and bedded her, bless her game heart ! 

" You cannot go forward at once," Henry urged, when 
we returned to the house. He started a fire in the dining- 
room, and placed an abundance of cold victuals and drink 
upon the table, and his pretty young wife entered to hear 
the war news. 

" Well, I thought I might, but blamed if I don't be- 
lieve I 'm forced to take a rest," I replied. " Will you 
have your mare saddled and me waked at daybreak ? " 

It was so arranged, and, after I had eaten like a glut- 
ton, I lit a pipe and tried to stay awake to answer Hen- 
ry's eager questions ; but I fell asleep in the chair, and 
the next I knew he was leading me by the arm up to a 
large bedroom, the like of which I had not seen for many 
a day. Tumbling into bed, I knew no more until he 
roused me at daybreak, fed me, put me on his mare, and 
said a " God bless you ! " I went off sore and reluctant, 
but soon limbered up and grew willing, as his horse, 
fresh and almost as good as Tuli}), strode gallantly on 
to Danville. 

" Man never is, but always to be blest." I was envy- 
ing preachers, and thinking what a good time Henry was 
having ; and he, poor fellew, had spent the night striding 
up and down the floor, bemoaning the hard fate which 
had made him a non-combatant. 

It was about eight o'clock in the evening of Saturday, 
April 8, 1865, when the hoofs of my horse resounded on 
the bridge which spans the Roanoke at Danville. I do 



444 THE END OF AN ERA 

not recall the exact distance traversed that day, but it 
was enough for man and beast. I had a good, comfort- 
able ride. Henry had filled my saddle-pockets with ex- 
cellent food, and two flasks of coffee made by him, while 
I slept, from a precious remnant that he had preserved 
for the sick of his congregation. He was a prince of 
hospitality and common sense. He had liquor, and was 
no blue-nose ; but he said that he would give me none, 
for the double reason that I seemed to like it too well, 
and that, in case of protracted effort, it was not so relia- 
ble a stimulant as coffee. 

The lights of Danville were a welcome sight. The town 
was crowded with people, the result of the recent influx 
from Richmond. Kiding up Main Street to the princi- 
pal hotel, I learned that President Davis was domiciled 
at the home of Major Sutherlin, and thither I directed 
my course. The house stands upon Main Street, near 
the crest of a steep hill. As I approached, I saw that it 
was brilliantly illuminated. A sentry at the yard gate 
challenged me. I announced my name, rank, and mis- 
sion, and was admitted. At the door, a colored man, 
whom I recognized as the body servant of the President, 
received me. In a few moments. Burton Harrison ap- 
jjeared, giving me a kindly greeting, and saying that the 
President and his Cabinet were then holding a session 
in the dining-room, and desired me to enter and make 
my report. I laughed, drew forth the short note of Gen- 
eral Lee to the President, and remarked that my dis- 
patches were for the most part oral. 

I felt rather embarrassed by such a distinguished 
audience, but Mr. Davis soon put me at ease. In his 
book he mentions my coming, but, after the long interval 
between 1865 and the time at which it was written, he 
had forgotten, if indeed he ever knew, that I had been 



THE END 445 

sent by hira to General Lee. Probably he never learned 
what name General Walker inserted in the blank order 
sent, when he requested the detail of- an officer to commu- 
nicate with General Lee. At any rate, I was the first 
person who had brought him any direct news from Gen- 
eral Lee since his departure from Richmond. 

Those present, as I remember them, were, besides the 
President and Burton Harrison, Mr. Benjamin, General 
Breckinridge, Secretary Mallory, Secretary Reagan, per- 
haps General Bragg, and several others whom I did not 
know, or do not recall. They sat around a large dining- 
table, and I stood at the end opposite Mr. Davis. He 
was exceedingly considerate, requested me to make my 
report, which I did as briefly as possible, and then asked 
me a number of questions. When he had done examin- 
ing me, several others of the party, made inquiries. One 
thing I remember vividly. Somebody inquired how 
many efficient troops I thought General Lee had left. 
I was prepared for this question to the extent of having 
tried to conjecture. In doing so, I had assumed that at 
the time he started from Petersburg he had nearly one 
hundred thousand men. That was the popular impres- 
sion. With this in my mind as a basic figure, I believed 
that his army had dwindled to one third of its number 
when it left Petersburg ; and so I ventured the opinion 
that he might still have thirty thousand effective men, 
although I was cautious enough to add that Mahone's 
and Field's divisions were the only two that I had seen 
which seemed to be intact and to have preserved their 
organization. When I said thirty thousand, I thought I 
detected a smile of sad incredulity on several faces ; and 
I have often wondered since how much that statement 
detracted from the weight attached to my report in other 
respects. 



446 THE END OF AN ERA 

One question I answered as I felt. " Do you think 
General Lee will be able to reach a point of safety with 
his army? " 

" I regret to say, no. From what I saw and heard, I 
am satisfied that General Lee must surrender. It may 
be that he has done so to-day. In my opinion, Mr. Presi- 
dent, it is only a question of a few days at furthest, and, 
if I may be permitted to add a word, I think the sooner 
the better ; for, after seeing what I have seen of the two 
armies, I believe the result is inevitable, and postponing 
the day means only the useless effusion of noble, gallant 
blood." 

I am sure none of them had heard such a plain state- 
ment of this unwelcome truth before. I remember the 
expression of face — almost a shudder — with which 
what I said was received. I saw that, however convinced 
they might be of the truth of it, it was not a popular 
speech to make. 

Mr. Davis asked me to remain. He said that he wished 
to talk with me further. While I was waiting for him 
in the hallway, Major Suthei'lin, who had known me 
from childhood, beckoned to me and asked, " Are n't you 
hungry after your ride ? " 

I grinned. I was always hungry then. 

"Jim," quoth the major, "see if you can't get some- 
thing for the lieutenant to eat." 

Jim went out, but in a few minutes returned, and, bow- 
ing, invited me into a butler's pantry. He apologized for 
the place, and explained that the house was so crowded 
he had nowhere else to spread the repast. He had pro- 
vided milk, corn-coffee, butter and rolls, and cold turkey. 
I said, " Jim, shut up. You know I am not used to as 
good as this." With that I tossed off a glass of milk, 
swallowed a cup of coffee, and, opening my haversack, 



THE END 447 

tumbled the butter and rolls and turkey-legs into it, and 
buttoned it up. Jim stood there, highly amused at the 
short shrift I made of his feast, and remarked, " You 's a 
fust-class forager, ain't you, lieutenant ? " " Yes," I re- 
sponded. " You must keep fire in the box, Jim, if you 
want the engine to run. Now I 'm ready for the Presi- 
dent." 

I slipped back into the hallway, and sat down to wait 
until the President should call me. In a little while the 
conference broke up, and he came to the door. "Now, 
lieutenant, I '11 see you," and he led the way into the 
drawing-room ; there we had a long talk, I going more 
into details. 

At the close of our conversation, he sat for some time 
peering into the gloom outside, and finally broke the 
silence by saying, " You seem to know the roads. Do 
you feel equal to another trip ? " 

" Assuredly," I answered. " I now have a relay of 
horses, and am more than glad to serve in any way I 
can." 

" Very well," said he. " Leave your horse in Major 
Sutherlin's stable, so that it will be well fed, and report 
for orders to-morrow morning at eight o'clock." 

I took the mare to the stable. It looked so inviting 
that I clambered up a ladder to the loft, opened my 
haversack, enjoyed Major Sutherlin's food, placed some 
hay under me and drew some over me, and had a glori- 
ous night's rest. 

When I reported next morning, the President did not 
ask at what hotel I was stopping. I received my return 
dispatches, and I set forth to rejoin General Lee. Aj)pre- 
hending the probability of my capture, Mr. Davis gave 
me a brief letter of credentials, and said that I would 
explain his wishes. 



448 THE END OF AN ERA 

Upon the same day that General Lee surrendered at 
Appomattox (April 9), I reached Halifax Court House 
on the return trip. My brother Richard was there, with 
his own horse and the horse that my father had lent the 
wounded man. They had been cut off at Sailors' Creek 
and forced southward. The enemy, flanking General Lee, 
had advanced by moving at least ten miles beyond Sailors' 
Creek, thus rendering it impossible for them to rejoin 
General Lee except by going through the Union lines. 
My brother was greatly perplexed concerning the course 
he should pursue, and after we had discussed the matter, 
he resolved to leave one of the horses and to go back 
with me. Monday morning we resumed the journey ; 
and that afternoon we met the first of our men, who, 
paroled at Appomattox the day before, were mournfully 
wending their way homeward. 

Upon hearing of the surrender, we turned back toward 
Danville to report to President Davis the failure of my mis- 
sion. On arriving there, we learned that he liad left the 
place, and gone to Greensboro, North Carolina. From 
the paroled men we met, we ascertained that our father 
was safe. We resolved to join Johnston's army. After 
leaving Danville, two days' ride brought us to Greens- 
boro, and there we found Johnston's forces. We reported 
to Major-General Carter Stevenson, commanding a divi- 
sion of infantry. General Stevenson was a Vii-ginian, 
one of the few in that army. A cousin of ours was on 
his staff. The army was bivouacked in and about the 
town of Greensboro, awaiting the result of negotiations 
for its surrender. Men and officers alike understood this, 
and there was a general relaxation of discipline. 

We were among the first to arrive from Lee's army. 
General Stevenson gave us a cordial welcome. We told 
him we had not been captured, and had come to serve 



THE END 449 :: 

under hira. He asked us what we wished to do. We re- 
plied that we were ready to serve in any capacity in which 
we could be useful ; I added facetiously that I was not 
much of a lieutenant anyhow, and none too good for a 
private. On our way, we had seriously discussed the for- 
mation of a command composed of officers of Lee's army 
who had escaped from the surrender. Inviting us to 
make his headquarters our home until something definite 
was concluded, General Stevenson said, with a smile, that 
he feared we had jumped out of the frying-pan into the 
fire, and that Sherman and Johnston were already confer- 
rinof about a cessation of hostilities. I must describe one 
of the conferences as General Johnston himself narrated 
it many years afterward. 

One cold winter night about 1880, Captain Edwin 
Harvie, of General Johnston's staff, invited me to join 
him in a call upon the general, who was then living in \, 
Richmond. Harvie was one of his pets, and we were 
promptly admitted to his presence. He sat in an arm- 
chair in his library, dressed in a flannel wrapper, and was 
suffering from an influenza. By his side, upon a low 
stool, stood a tray with whiskey, glasses, spoons, sugar, 
lemon, spice, and eggs. At the grate a footman held a 
brass teakettle of boiling water. Mrs. Johnston was pre- 
paring hot Tom-and-Jerry for the old gentleman, and he 
took it from time to time with no sign of objection or 
resistance. It was snowing outside, and the scene within 
was very cosy. As I had seen him in public. General 
Johnston was a stiff, uncommunicative mian, punctilious 
and peppery, as little fellows like him are apt to be. He 
reminded me of a cock sparrow, full of self-consciousness, 
and rather enjoying a peck at his neighbor. 

That night he was as warm, comfortable, and commu- 
nicative as the kettle singing on the hob. He had been 



450 THE END OF AN ERA 

lonesome, and he greatly enjoyed both the Tom-and- 
Jerry and the visitors. Harvie knew how to draw him 
out on reminiscences, and we spent a most delightful 
evening. Among other things, he told us an episode of 
the surrender, under promise that we should not publish 
it until after his death. 

Johnston had known Sherman well in the United States 
army. Their first interview near Greensboro resulted in 
an engagement to meet for further discussion the follow- 
ing day. As they were parting, Johnston i-emarked : " By 
the way, Cumps, Breckinridge, our Secretary of War, is 
with me. He is a very able fellow, and a better lawyer 
than any of us. If there is no objection, I will fetch him 
along to-morrow." 

Bristling up. General Sherman exclaimed, " Secretary 
of War ! No, no ; we don't recognize any civil govern- 
ment among you fellows, Joe. No, I don't want any 
Secretary of War." 

" Well," said General Johnston, " he is also a major- 
general in the Confederate army. Is there any objection 
to his presence in the capacity of major-general ? " 

" Oh ! " quoth Sherman, in his characteristic way, 
" major-general ! Well, any major-general you may bring, 
I shall be glad to meet. But recollect, Johnston, no Sec- 
retary of War. Do you understand ? " 

The next day. General Johnston, accompanied by 
Major-General Breckinridge and others, was at the ren- 
dezvous before Sherman. 

" You know how fond of his liquor Breckinridge was ? " 
added General Johnston, as he went on with his story. 
" Well, nearly everything to drink had been absorbed. 
For several days, Breckinridge had found it difficult, if 
not impossible, to procure liquor. He showed the effect 
of his enforced abstinence. He was rather dull and 



THE END 451 

heavy that morning. Somebody in Danville had given 
him a plug of very fine chewing tobacco, and he chewed 
vigorously while we were awaiting Sherman's coming. 
After a while, the latter arrived. He bustled in with a 
pair of saddlebags over his arm, and apologized for being 
late. He placed the saddlebags carefully upon a chair. 
Introductions followed, and for a while General Sherman 
made himself exceedingly agreeable. Finally, some one 
suggested that we had better take up the matter in hand. 

" ' Yes,' said Sherman ; ' but, gentlemen, it occurred 
to me that perhaps you were not overstocked with liquor, 
and I procured some medical stores on my way over. 
Will you join me before we begin work ? ' " 

General Johnston said he watched the expression of 
Breckinridge at this announcement, and it was beatific. 
Tossing his quid into the fire, he rinsed his mouth, and 
when the bottle and the glass were passed to him, he 
poured out a tremendous drink, which he swallowed with 
great satisfaction. With an air of content, he stroked his 
mustache and took a fresh chew of tobacco. 

Then they settled down to business, and Breckinridge 
never shone more brilliantly than he did in the discus- 
sions which followed. He seemed to have at his tongue's 
end every rule and maxim of international and constitu- 
tional law, and of the laws of war, — international wars, 
civil wars, and wars of rebellion. In fact, he was so re- 
sourceful, cogent, persuasive, learned, that, at one stage 
of the proceedings. General Sherman, when confronted 
by the authority, but not convinced by the eloquence 
or learning of Breckinridge, pushed back his chair and 
exclaimed : " See here, gentlemen, who is doing this sur- 
rendering anyhow ? If this thing goes on, you '11 have 
me sending a letter of apology to Jeff Davis." 

Afterward, when they were nearing the close of the 



452 THE END OF AN ERA 

conference, Sherman sat for some time absorbed in deep 
thought. Then he arose, went to the saddlebags, and 
fumbled for the bottle. Breckinridge saw the movement. 
Again he took his quid from his mouth and tossed it into 
the fireplace. His eye brightened, and he gave every 
evidence of intense interest in what Sherman seemed 
about to do. 

The latter, preoccupied, perhaps unconscious of his 
action, poured out some liquor, shoved the bottle back 
into the saddle-pocket, walked to the window, and stood 
there, looking out abstractedly, while he sipped his grog. 

From pleasant hope and expectation the expression on 
Breckinridge's face changed successively to uncertainty, 
disgust, and deep depression. At last his hand sought 
the plug of tobacco, and, with an injured, sorrowful look, 
he cut off another chew. Upon this he ruminated during 
the remainder of the interview, taking little part in what 
was said. 

After silent reflections at the window. General Sher- 
man bustled back, gathered up his papers, and said: 
" These terms are too generous, but I must hurry away 
before you make me sign a capitulation. I will submit 
them to the authorities at Washington, and let you hear 
how they are received." With that he bade the assem- 
bled officers adieu, took his saddlebags upon his arm, and 
went off as he had come. 

General Johnston took occasion, as they left the house 
and were drawing on their gloves, to ask General Breck- 
inridge how he had been impressed by Sherman. 

" Sherman is a bright man, and a man of great force," 
replied Breckinridge, speaking with deliberation, " but," 
raising his voice and with a look of great intensity, " Gen- 
eral Johnston, General Sherman is a hog. Yes, sir, a 
hog. Did you see him take that drink by himself ? " 



THE END 453 

General Johnston tried to assure General Breckinridge 
that General Sherman was a royal good fellow, but the 
most absent-minded man in the world. He told him that 
the failure to offer him a drink was the highest compli- 
ment that could have been paid to the masterly arguments 
with which he had pressed the Union commander to that 
state of abstraction. 

" Ah ! " protested the big Kentuckian, half sighing, 
half grieving, " no Kentucky gentleman would ever have 
taken away that bottle. He knew we needed it, and 
needed it badly." 

The story was well told, and I did not make it public 
until after General Johnston's death. On one occasion, 
being intimate with General Sherman, I repeated it to 
him. Laughing heartily, he said : " I don't remember 
it. But if Joe Johnston told it, it 's so. Those fellows 
hustled me so that day, I was sorry for the drink I did 
give them," and with that sally he broke out into fresh 
laughter. 

While these scenes were being enacted, Johnston's army 
lay about Greensboro, and I saw a great deal of the men 
and the officers. I will not attempt a comparison between 
its personnel and that of Lee's army. I was a prejudiced 
observer, and such comparisons can produce no good 
results. But I am free to say, from what I saw, then and 
thereafter, of Sherman's army, that I believe it was a 
better army than that of General Grant. If Lee's army 
and Sherman's had come together when they were at their 
best, the world would have witnessed some very memo- 
rable fighting. The spirit of General Johnston's men was 
much finer than, under the circumstances, anybody would 
have expected. They were defiant, and more than ready 
to try conclusions with Sherman in a pitched battle. 
Many expressed disgust and indignation when the sur- 



454 THE END OF AN ERA 

render of the army was announced. An epidemic of 
drunkenness, gambling, and fighting prevailed while we 
were waiting for our final orders. Whatever difficulty 
General Breckinridge may have experienced in procuring 
liquor, the soldiers seemed to have an abundance of color- 
less corn-whiskey and applejack, and the roadsides were 
lined with " chuck-a-luck " games. The amount of Con- 
federate money displayed was marvelous. Men had it 
by the haversackf ul, and bet it recklessly upon anything. 
The ill-temper begotten by drinking and gambling mani- 
fested itself almost hourly in free fights. 

During this period of waiting came the news of the 
assassination of Mr. Lincoln. Perhaps I ought to chroni- 
cle that the announcement was received with demonstra- 
tions of sorrow. If I did, I should be lying for senti- 
ment's sake. Among the higher officers and the most 
intelligent and conservative men, the assassination caused 
a shudder of horror at the heinousness of the act, and at 
the thought of its possible consequences ; but among the 
thoughtless, the desperate, and the ignorant, it was hailed 
as a sort of retributive justice. In matui-er years I have 
been ashamed of what I felt and said when I heard of 
that awful calamity. However, men ought to be judged 
for their feelings and their speech by the circumstances 
of their surroundings. For four years we had been fight- 
ing. In that struggle, all we loved had been lost. Lin- 
coln incarnated to us the idea of oppression and conquest. 
We had seen his face over the coffins of our brothers and 
relatives and friends, in the flames of Richmond, in the 
disaster at Appomattox. In blood and flame and torture 
the temples of our lives were tumbling about our heads. 
We were desperate and vindictive, and whosoever denies 
it forgets or is false. We greeted his death in a spirit of 
reckless hate, and hailed it as bringing agony and bitter- 



THE END 455 

iiess to those who were the cause of our own agony and 
bitterness. To us, Lincoln was an inhuman monster, 
Grant a butcher, and Sherman a fiend. 

Time taught us that Lincoln was a man o£ marvelous 
humanity, Appomattox and what followed revealed Grant 
in his matchless magnanimity, and the bitterness toward 
Sherman was softened in subsequent years. But, with our 
feelings then, if the news had come that all three of these 
had been engulfed in a common disaster with ourselves, 
we should have felt satisfaction in the fact, and should 
not have questioned too closely how it had been brought 
about. We were poor, starved, conquered, despairing; 
and to expect men to have no malice and no vindictive- 
ness at such a time is to look for angels in human form. 
Thank God, such feelings do not last long, at least in 
their fiercest intensity. 

The army moved westward to a place named Jimtown, 
since dignified as Jamestown. There we were all paroled. 
We received one dollar and fifteen cents each. Of this, 
one dollar was in Mexican coin. I cut my initials upon 
my dollar, but it was stolen from my pocket the next day. 
We were ready to disperse to our homes. Our headquar- 
ters were in a tent. 

That night we had our last army fright. By some 
means, a rumor had become prevalent that certain officers 
had distributed among themselves bolts of valuable cloth 
far beyond their own needs, leaving the soldiers ragged. 
The men formed bands, declaring they would ransack the 
officers' wagons and have this cloth. A friendly fellow 
brought us the news that one of these parties was ap- 
proaching to search General Stevenson's headquarters 
wagon. Major Eeeve, of the staff, indignant at such an 
accusation, but more indignant at the proposed insult to 
his commanding officer, swore he would die rather than 



456 THE END OF AN ERA 

submit to such ignominy. He called upon us to defend 
our manhood. Of course we were ready. Armed only 
with our swords and revolvers, we were deployed by him 
behind trees. It was moonlight. We could see the raid- 
ers coming through the woods. When within thirty yards, 
they halted. Major Reeve, who was as gallant as he was 
impetuous, challenged, and asked what they wanted. A 
leader replied. " Are you men soldiers of Stevenson's 
division ? " inquired Reeve. On learning that they were, 
he proceeded to deliver an addi*ess which, for eloquence, 
pathos, and defiance, was as fine as anything I ever 
heard. 

He reproached them for thinking for an instant that 
such a base rumor could be true. He reminded them of 
the days when he had led them, and they were touched 
by his references to their common struggles and common 
sufferings. He asked them what General Stevenson or 
any of his staff had ever done to deserve this distrust or 
justify this degrading search. Finally, he told them that if 
they still persisted, but one course was left to us, and that 
was to die at the hands of our own men rather than sub- 
mit tamely to such dishonor. We who were dejiloyed 
behind the trees felt that we were in a ticklish place. 
Reeve was exalted by his own oratory. We were trying 
to comit the number of our assailants. For a moment 
after he finished speaking there was a dead silence, a very 
awkward silence. Then a voice shouted, " Three cheers 
for Major Reeve ! " They were given with a hearty good- 
will, followed by cheers for everybody. The marauders 
broke, crowded around Reeve, and hugged and wept over 
him, and we sneaked back to the tent, much relieved that 
this particular phase of the war was over. 

The next day, the Army of the Tennessee dissolved. To 
every point of the compass its officers and men dispersed. 



THE END 457 

Our course was directed to Danville. We did not en- 
counter any Union forces until we approached that place. 
Then we saw mounted Union pickets outlined against the 
sky, at the top of the hill. They looked just as we had 
often seen them before. It was hard to realize that they 
would not fire upon us, and gallop away to give the alarm. 
It was equally hard to realize that we soon should pass 
them and be within the Union lines. In we went, giving 
and receiving salutes. For the first time, we were in the 
midst of a body of Union soldiers. What we felt then is 
not important. 

A week later, having been to Halifax to return to her 
owner the finest mare I ever bestrode, I boarded a train 
for Richmond, the brass buttons on my uniform covered 
with black, a fit badge of mourning for the dead Confed- 
eracy. The cars were crowded with Union soldiers and 
negroes flocking to the towns. The bearing of the Union 
officers and soldiers toward Confederates was, with few 
exceptions, extremely civil and conciliatory. One fellow 
was so kind that, after he had offered me money, which I 
refused, he slipped it into my pocket with a card saying, 
" This is not a gift, but a loan, and when you are able 
you can return it to me." I did subsequently return it, 
but never forgot his delicate attention. 

The bridges across the James at Richmond had all been 
destroyed. Our train stopped at Manchester, opposite 
Richmond. Thence we were compelled to proceed to the 
city by way of a pontoon bridge thrown across the river 
at the lower end of Mayo's Island. At the Manchester 
terminus, we found a number of improvised vehicles, — 
wagons, ambulances, etc., — with improvised drivers, too, 
seeking passengers to carry over the bridge. These driv- 
ers were in many instances my old army comrades. One 
of them was Colonel George , a former schoolmate. 



458 THE END OF AN ERA 

not five years older than myself, a man of the highest so- 
cial standing, a young soldier of distinguished gallantry, 
who a month before had commanded one of the best regi- 
ments in Lee's army. It was pathetic, the sight of those 
army boys, with their war-horses converted into teams, 
trying to earn an honest penny to feed the folks at home. 
I saw George stand at the rear of the ambulance that 
he drove, open the door, collect the fares from the sleek 
Union commissaries and quartermasters who patronized 
him, mount his box, and drive away as humbly as if that 
business had been, and was to be, his lifelong occupation. 

It was fortunate for our boys that the negroes, who 
until now had done this class of work, were so elated by 
their freedom that they had performed no sort of labor 
since the evacuation. They had thronged the city, but 
not for work. The weather was warm, and they were 
living in all kinds of makeshift habitations, ofttimes in 
the ruins of burned buildings, procuring food from the 
Freedmen's Bureau, and spending their time in the Capi- 
tol Square, where the older ones shouted and sang for 
hours, and the children played at games. 

I was too poor to indulge in the luxury of a ride, and 
young and strong enough to walk to town. Slinging our 
knapsacks, a party of us walked across the pontoon, lift- 
ing our eyes from time to time to the grinning ruins before 
us. It was past noon ; the day was warm, and the sun 
was bright. It revealed, without concealing anything 
from us, the complete destruction of the business portion 
of the town. Through these ruins we wended our way. 

The hand of reconstruction was already sti'etched forth. 
Men were engaged in pulling down walls and cleaning 
bricks. Already mortar beds had been built in the 
streets, puddlers were at work, and, where work had pro- 
gressed far enough, foundations were being laid anew. 



THE END 459 

The streets were already burdened with lumber for joists 
and woodwork, and every evidence was given of a rebuild- 
ing of the town. Nearly all the laborers were white men. 
Many of them I knew well, — men of as good social posi- 
tion as my own ; soldiers come home and resolved not to 
be idle, but to work for an honest living in any way in 
which they could make it. Sitting in the sun with their 
trowels, jabbing away in awkward fashion at their new 
and unaccustomed tasks, covered with dust and plaster, 
they were the same bright, cheerful fellows who had 
learned to labor in that state of life to which it had 
pleased God to call them, just as they had been willing 
followers, in sunshine and in storm, of their beloved Lee. 
At night, with their day's wages in their pockets, they 
would go home, change their clothing, take a bath, and 
associate with their families, — not at all ashamed of their 
labors, but making a joke of their newly discovered 
method of earning a sustenance. With all the hardship 
of such unaccustomed work, it was the best and most 
comfortable and least dangerous employment that they 
had been engaged in for years. Richmond rose from her 
ashes, and soon became, in great part by their efforts, a 
more beautiful city than ever before. 

Passing through the business portion of the town, we 
reached the residential section, which was still intact. 
The trees were in full leaf. They cast their deep shadows 
everywhere, and a Sabbath stillness pervaded the streets, 
strangely in contrast with the air of busy life always pre- 
sented when Richmond was the crowded and beleaguered 
capital. Few men and no women were upon the streets. 
Business had not been resumed, and the presence of 
Union soldiers and great numbers of negroes made women 
cautious about venturing forth unattended. 

I had no home. The nearest approach to one was that 



460 THE END OF AN ERA 

of ray brother-in-law, Dr. Garnett. There my mother 
and an unmarried sister were, and thither I repaired. 
My father, as I learned, had not returned to Eichmond. 
Eliza, our faithful servant, whose kinspeople resided in 
Philadelphia, had made a. short visit to that place, and 
among other things had brought back civilian clothes for 
me. They had been bought by Philadelphia relatives, 
who knew me only as an eighteen-year-old boy, and the 
clothes were of the style worn by Philadelphia cousins of 
my own age. In my room I found a civilian's attire laid 
out for me, and I proceeded to divest myself of my uni- 
form. For the first time in two years and eight months, 
I appeared in citizen's dress. The sensation was peculiar. 
The lightness and softness of the cloth was delightful, but 
the sack coat and the straw hat made me feel bobtailed 
. and bareheaded ; and when I looked in the glass, instead 
of confronting a striking young officer, I beheld a mere 
insignificant chit of an eighteen-year-old boy. Nothing 
brought home to me more vividly the fact that the stun- 
nins: events of the last month had ended the career on 
which I had started, and that I had received a great set- 
back in manhood. This feeling was emphasized when 
some one startled me by asking where I was going to 
school. 

The house had a broad veranda. That evening we sat 
upon it, after tea, quiet and sad, but enjoying the refresh- 
ing air and sense of peace. On the opposite side of the 
street lived a family consisting of a mother and several 
handsome daugliters. They had been such ardent Con- 
federates that they had been sent out of Alexandria into 
the Confederate lines by the Union commander. That 
fhey were still loyal Confederates we never had reason to 
doubt until we saw a party of young Union officers ride 
up, followed by their orderlies. We felt sure they had 



THE END 461 

come to arrest the occupants of that house. Imagine our 
surprise, therefore, when, in a few moments, we saw the 
lights go up in the drawing-rooms, and discovered that 
this was a social call. One of the girls was soon banging 
away on the piano and singing to her admirers. The 
voices of hilarity, the sounds of mirth and music, horrified 
us. We looked upon the conduct of those girls, ii* mak- 
ing merry, singing, playing, and receiving the attentions 
of Union officers, as grossly indelicate, heartless to our 
dead and to us, and treason to their Confederate comrades. 
It was y^ars before they regained social recognition in the 
community. Their faithlessness to the lost cause chilled 
my heart, and was a fresh reminder that the cause was 
dead. 

That night I tossed upon my bed, reflecting on the 
past, contemplating the present, speculating as to the 
future. The next morning I arose, and before breakfast 
I wrote my will, as follows : — 

I, J. Reb., being of unsound mind and bitter memory, 
and aware that I am dead, do make, publish, and declare 
the following to be my political last will and testament. 

1. I give, devise, and bequeath all my slaves to Harriet 
Beecher Stowe. 

2. My rjghts in the territories I direct shall be assigned 
and set over, together with the bricabrac known as State 

Sovereignty, to the Hon. J R T , to play 

with for the remainder of his life, and remainder to his 
son after his death. 

3. I direct that all my shares in the venture of seces- 
sion shall be canceled, provided I am released from my 
unpaid subscription to the stock of said enterprise, 

4. My interest in the civil government of the Confed- 
eracy I bequeath to any freak museum that may here- 
after be established. 



462 THE END OF AN ERA 

5. My sword, my veneration for General Robert E. 
Lee, his subordinate commanders and his peerless soldiers, 
and my undying love for my old comrades, living and 
dead, I set apart as the best I have, or shall ever have, to 
bequeath to my heirs forever. 

6. And now, being dead, having experienced a death 
to Confederate ideas and a new birth unto allegiance to 
the Union, I depart, with a vague but not definite hope 
of a joyful resurrection, and of a new life, upon lines 
somewhat different from those of the last eighteen years. 
I see what has been j)ulled down very clearly. What is 
to be built up in its place I know not. It is a mystery ; 
but death is always mysterious. Amen. 

I read this will at the breakfast-table. It amused the 
family, but with me it was no joke. I was dead. Every- 
thing that I had ever believed in politically was dead. 
Everybody that I had ever trusted or relied upon politi- 
cally was dead. My beloved State of Virginia was dis- 
membered, and a new State had been erected out of a 
part of her, against her will. Every hope that I had ever 
indulaed was dead. Even the manhood I had attained 
was dead. I was a boy again, a mere child, — precocious, 
ignorant, conceited, and unformed. I had set my heart 
and soul on the career of a soldier. What hope was left 
for that? The night's reflections had made all these 
things clear as never before. Boy as I was, I felt it as 
keenly as did the embittered Moor when, in his agony, he 
exclaimed : — 

" Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality. 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 



THE END 463 

And, you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! " 

In hopelessness I scanned the wreck, and then — I went 
back to school. 



In June, 1865, a boy named John Sergeant Wise, a 
visitor at the home of his uncle, General Meade, in Phil- 
adelphia, was a witness of the triumphant return of the 
armies of the Union. He was regarded as such a mere 
child that he was not invited to the table when com- 
pany came, but dined with the other children in the nur- 
sery. A little later, he sat in overalls and a straw hat 
fishing near the shores of the blue Chesapeake. In Sep- 
tember, he was sent to school. In October, he was playing 
furiously on the scrub nine of his college baseball team. 
Two years later, he was admitted to the practice of law, 
and even then he had not attained his majority. 

It is incredible that this stripling was the same person 
as the young officer whose observations and career have 
been chronicled in these pages. Nor is it more difficult 
now for the reader than for the writer to realize that this 
narrative is aught but a dream. 



INDEX 



Abingdon, Va., 373, 381. 
Abolitionists, 48, 49, 73. 
Accawmacke, The Kingdom of, 10- 

22. 
Accomack County, when formed, 15. 
Alabama Regiment, Third, 212- 

214. 
Albemarle County, 138, 
Albemarle Sound, 175. 
Alexander, colonel of artillery, 340. 
Allen, Major " Buck," of Claremont, 

409. 
Aliens of Tuckahoe, the, 139. 
Allstadt, Mr., captured by John 

Bro^vn, 128. 
Amelia Court House, 416. 
American flag, 3, 9, 50, 160, 161. 
American party, 53. 
Anderson, Lieutenant-Colonel, 182, 

1«4. 
Anderson, Lieutenant-General, 330. 
Anderson family, 239. 
Andrew, Governor John A., 134. 
Andrews, Olivero, 402. 
Annamessex Creek, 18. 
Aqueduct, at Rio de Janeiro, 102. 
Arbuckle family, 29. 
Arlington, Lord, 18. 
Arlington plantation, 18. 
Army of Tennessee dissolves, 456, 

457. 
Arnold of Rugby, 246. 
Arthur, President Chester A., 239. 
Ashby's Landing, 182, 184. 
Ashland, Va., 308. 
Assassination of Lincoln, how re- 
ceived, 454, 455. 
Assawamman Creek, 18. 
Atwill, Cadet, killed, 302. 
August, Colonel Thomas P., 68. 
Augusta County, 236. 
Averill, General, raid by, 272. 

Bacchante, painting by Pauline Lau- 
rent, 208, 210. 
Bagwell family, 17. 



Bagwell, Lieutenant E. R., 431, 432. 
Balcony Falls, 138, 234, 235, 312. 
Baltimore, 17, 30, 40. 

Baptists, 16. 

Barclays, the, 239. 

Barksdale, Dr. Randolph, 69. 

Barron, Commodore James, 191, 192. 

Bartlett, General, 368. 

Bartow, General, 169. 

"Basin Cats," Richmond, 59. 

Baylor, Colonel R. W., 119. 

Bayly family, 29. 

Bearing of Union officers to Confed- 
erates, 457. 

Beaufort, The, Confederate steamer, 
196, 200, 201, 205. 

Beauregard, General, 169, 170, 315, 
330, 361. 

Bee, General, 169. 

Bell, Lorenzo, 29, 31. 

Benjamin, Judah P., 176-178, 401, 
445. 

Ben McCulloch Rangers, 186, 187. 

Benton, Jessie, 72. 

Big Bethel, 168. 

Big Lick, 219. 

Bishops Lydeard, 26. 

Black Horse Cavalry, 147. 

Blackstone family, 29. 

Blandf ord, church and cemetery, 356, 
360. 

Blockade runners, the nabobs, 397, 
398. 

Blue Ridge, 138. 

Blues, Richmond, 110, 166, 170, 186, 
188. 

Boggess, Cadet, 258. 

BoUings of Boiling Island and Boi- 
ling Hall, 139. 

Bombproofs, appeal to soldiers to 
fight on, 395, 396. 

" Bonnie Blue Flag " first heard, 157. 

Bonsacks, 231. 

Booth, John Wilkes, 93, 131. 

Botafogo, 1. 

Botetourt County, 236. 



466 



INDEX 



Bowdoin family, 17. 
Bowman family, 17. 
Bowman's FoUy, seat of the Crop- 
pers, 29. nrrr /11K 

Bragg, General Braxton, 175, 41D, 

445. 
Brandy distilling, 216. 
Braxton, Colonel, 340, 
Brazil, 1, 10, 17, 33. 
Breathitt, Colonel, 340. 
Breckinridge, General John t.., a, 

72, 288, 2'J4, 401, 445, 450-453. 
Bricabrac, at Rolleston, 208 
Brooke, Captain John M., 194, 195. 
Brooks, Preston S., 115. 
Brown, General, of Freedmeu s Bu- 

Bro^', Old John, 75, 113, 136, 144; 

his constitution, 127, 128. 
Browne family, 17. 
Brownsville, seat of Upshur family, 

29. 
Bruton parish church, 26. 
Buchanan, President James, a-t-i, 

115 135 170, 239. 
Buchknan, Admiral, 194, 195, 198, 

Burbridge, General, raid hy. 377. 
Burkeville, Va., 416-471, 419 420 
Burnside, General A. E., 352, 354, 

356. 
Burnside's expedition, 181-183. 
Butler, General B. F., 211. 
Butlers, the old slave, the terror ot 

smaU boys, 122. 



Cabell, Cadet Sergeant, 299, 302, 

Cabell, Mrs., mules of , 67. 
CabeUs of Nelson, the, 139. 
Cadet boxes from home, 283, ^»4. 
Cadet nicknames, 261, 262. 
Calhoun, John C, 239. 
California, 2. , 

CampbeU famUy, The, 239. 
Campbell, Douglas, 239. , 
CampbeU, Miss, of Louisiana, 403. 
Camp Lee, stationed at, 308. 
Cape Charles, 10, 11, 18. 
Cape Henry, 10, 167. 

Cape Horn, 2. ., „ , , ... 

" Captain Jenks " first heard, 441. 

Carnif ax Ferry, 170. 

Carrington, Major Isaac H., 409. 

Carter, Colonel Thomas H., 340. 

Carvell, John, blockade runner, 409 

Carv, Miss Connie. 401. 

Cateti, suburb of Rio de Janeiro, 1. 

Catliolic Church, 53. 

Chaffin's Farm, 207. 



Chamberlayne, Captain J. Hamp- 
den, 360. 
Chapel Hill, N. C, 238. 
Charles I., 10, 17, 23. 
Charleston Kanawha, 167. 
Charlottesville, Va., 138, 308. 
Charlton, Stephen, 18. 
Chesapeake Bay, 10, 11, 22, 27, 40, 

167, 196, 463. 
Cherrystone Creek, 18. 
Chesconnessex Creek, 18, 27, 
Chickahominy, 213, 214 
Childhood at Only, 44-46, 52, 53. 
Childish amusements at Kichmond, 

70, 71. 
Chincoteague, 18. 
"Chinook," Captam H. A. Wise, 

261. 
Christening, 8. 
Christiansburg, Va., 385. 
Christmas, 1-4, 7, 391. 
" Church Hill Cats," Richmond, 59. 
Civihan soldiers, 457, 458. 
Civilian's clothes, how they felt, 4b0- 
Cleveland, President Grover, 239. 
Climate of Eastern Shore, unsur- 
passed, 14. 
Clover Station, Va., 412. 
Cocke, General Phihp St. George, of 

BeUe Mead, 139, 276 . 

Cocke, Sylvester P., financier, 21o, 

216. 
Cockes of Fluvanna, 139. 
Coehorn mortars at crater tignt, 

352. 
Cold Harbor, 308. , ^ „ , 
Coles, Captain, killed at Roanoke, 

186, 187. 
Colonna, Cadet, 247-249. 
Colston, General R. E., 261, 268. 
Columbia, the fngate, 8. 
Compton family, 239. 
Confederate prices, 392-394. 
Confederate reserves, 372, 391. 
Confederate traitors, 460, 461. 
Confederate wedding, a, 397. 
Confederates who were never i^on- 

federates, 396. 
Congress, the ship, 198, 199. 
Constitution, the ship, 48. 



Lonsmuiion, mc aii.i', ^— 

Cook, co-conspirator with Jonn 
Brown, 127. . . 

Cooks, of old time Virgima, un- 
equaled, 66. 

Cooper, General Samuel, l^o. 

Corbin family, 29 . r • „j „f 

Cornfield peas, the best fnend ot 
Confederates, .393, 

Corporal, promoted to, ^84. 

Corps of cadets, first sight of, 101. 



INDEX 



467 



"Country be d— d. There is no 

country," 434. 
Craney Island, 164, 1G7, 196. 
Crater, battle of the, 346-363. 
Crawford, Thomas, the seidptor, 100. 
"Crazes," the periodical political, 

54. 
Creeks, what they are, 18. 
Croatan Sound, N. C, 181. 
Crockett, Cadet, killed, 302, 
Cromwell, Oliver, 240. 
Cropper family, 17, 129. 
Cropper, General John, 27. 
Cropper, Sarah, 27. 
Cuba, early discussion concerning, 

115. 
Culpeper, Lord, 18. 
Cumberland, the ship, 160, 198, 199. 
Currituck Sound, 175. 
Curtis, the scout, 425. 
Custis family, 17, 29. 
Custis, John, 18. 

Daingerfield, Mr., captured by John 

Brown, 130. 
Dale, Sir Thomas, 13. 
Dale's Gift, 13. 
Daniel, John M., 171, 177. 
Danville, Va., 412, 433, 457. 

Davidson, Captain Greenlee, burial 
of, 267. 

Davis, President Jefferson, 175, 214, 
260, 309, 330, 400, 401, 415, 417, 447. 

Davis, Mrs. President, 401. 

Dayton, W. L., candidate for Vice- 
President, 72. 

Deane, Dr. Francis H., 70. 

Decatur, Commodore, 191. 

Deer, on John Smith's map, 12. 

Deering-, General "Jim," 337, 338. 

De la War, Lord, Thomas West, 23. 

De Leon, Cooper, 402. 

De Royter, Dutch admiral, anec- 
dote concerning, 205. 

Deserter-hunting in Floyd County. 
Va., 385-391. 

Devonshire, our folks from, 23. 

Diggs, Governor, grant from, 26. 

Dimmoek, Captain Charles, 59. 

Dimmock, Marion, 59. 

District of Columbia, 119. 

" Dixie " first heard, 157. 

Domestic luxury great in South, 66. 

Domestic servants unsurpassed, 66. 

Donelson, Andrew J., candidate for 
Vice-President, 71. 

Douglas, George, a slave, 47. 

Douglas, Stephen A., 71, 116, 118 
156, 157. 

Dress of period, 1856-60, 66, 67. 



Drunkenness on Eastern Shore, 16 
Dublin Depot, Va., 372, 373, 391. 
Dudley, Rev. Jacob D., 137, 143, 144. 
Dueling, the practice of, 94-97. 
Dunkards, the, 226. 
Dunlop, Mr. James, of Petersburg. 

317, 318. 
Duryee, Colonel Abram, 110. 
Dutch of New York, 237. 

Early, General Jubal A.. 227-229. 

^^ 315, 395. ' 

"East Lynne," the play, 93. 
Eastern Shore, first settlement of, 14, 
Eat, drink, and be merry," 410, 411. 
Echols, General John, 294, 296, 298," 

Edgar's battalion, 302. 
Ekeekes, Chief of Onaneock, 27. 
Eliza, my white nurse, 38, 46, 52, 460 
Elizabeth River, 153, 167, 196, 209. 
Elliott, General, of South Carolina, 

346, 352, 359. 
Elliott's salient, 346, 352, 353,357. 359 

3(J0. » > , , 

Emancipation, many Southerners 
working for, 113. 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 134. 

England, home of our people, 23. 

English ancestors the best, 24-26. 

"Enquirer," Richmond, 80, 90. 

Episcopalians, 16. 

Equipages, handsome, in Richmond, 
67. 

Ericsson, steamer. Seventh New 
York Regiment on, 105. 

Evacuation of Richmond and Peters- 
burg, first news of, 412-116. 

Evans family, 17. 

Evans, Cadet, color-bearer, 298, 302. 

Ewell, General R. S., 330, 332, 427 
428. , , , ., 

" Examiner," Richmond, 171, 177, 



Falls of the James, 14. 

Fanatics, what they are, 49. 

Farmville, 426-436. 

Father Ritchie, 90. 

Faulkner, Charles J., cadet and sen- 
ator, 273, 275, 301. 

Field, General, 330. 

Fighting among Richmond boys, 58. 

Fighting ground, V. M. I., 253. 

" Fighting in the Union," 158. 

Fighting prevalent on Eastern Shore. 
16. ' 

Fillmore, President MUlard, 71. 

Finney family, 29. 

First lessons, 48. ^, 

First love, 48. __ - - 



46'8 



INDEX 



First settlement of Eastern Shore, 14. 
First Virginia Regiment, 106-112, 

120, 124. 
Fiske, John, 239. 
Fitchett family, 17. 
Five Forks, 412. 
Flanner, Captain, 360. 
Flat Creek, 425. 
Fleet, Captain A. F., 318. 
Fleming family of West View, 139. 
Flower de Hundred, 14. 
Floyd County, deserter-hunting in, 

385-391. 
Floyd, General John B., 170, 171. 
Forrest, Commodore, 194, 195. 
Fort Calhoun, 167, 196. 
Fort Norfolk, 162. 
Fort Sumter, 159, 160. 
Fort Wool, 167, 196. 
Fortress Monroe, 11, 167, 197, 209. 
Foster, General, 182, 185-187. 
Fourth of July, 105. 
Fowle, Mrs., of Alexandria, 69. 
Franklin County, 212. 
Franklin Street, Richmond, 67. 
Frederick the Great, sword of, 129. 
Freesoilers of Kansas, 115. 
Fremont, John C, 72. 
Fry, Major, 188. 
Furniture, sumptuous among ooutn- 

erners, 66. 

Gaits of Albemarle, The, 139. 
Game on Eastern Shore, 14. 
Games and sports of eastern shore- 
man, 16. 
Garnett, Dr. A. Y. P., 3, 166, 415, 

4tj0. 
Garrison, WiUiam Lloyd, 134. 

Garrett, Cadet, 301. 

Gauley River, 170. 

Gayety under desperate conditions, 
396. 

Genesee valley, 138. 

German population of Virginia, 236, 

German prisoners, 291. 

Giirmantown, the ship, 160. 

Gettysburg, 272, 329. 

Gibbons, General, 324. 

Gibbs, Hampton, 3(i0. 

Gibson, Colonel J. T., 119, 

Gilham, Colonel Wilhara, 102, 103, 
261. 

Gillett family, 17. 

Glade Spring, Va,, 373. 

Glen Cove, the steamer, 107, 

Gloria landing, Rio de Janeiro, 2. 

Goffigon family, 17, 29. 

Goldsbrough. Commodore, 182. 

Goochland County, 137, 212. 



Goochland Troop, 146, 147. 
Goode, Colonel J. Thomas, 346, 359. 
Gordon, General John B., 320, 339. 
Gosport Navy Yard, 160, 172, 195, 

209. 
Gouvemeur, Samuel L., and family, 

105. 
Governor's election, 1855, 55. 
Government House, Richmond, 57. 
Gracie, General Archibald, 358. 
Graham family, 239. 
Granger craze, 54. 
Grant, General U. S., 239, 285, 291, 

302, 308, 319, 326, 353, 354, 365, 427. 
Gravesend, England, first of family 

sailed from, 28. 
Grays, Riclmiond, 110. 
Great Eastern, 154. 
Greeley, Horace, 134. 
Green, Colonel, 188. 
Greenback craze, 54. 
Green Bay, 419. 

Greene, Lieutenant S. Dana, 204. 
Greensboro, N. C, 448. 
Guard of the Metropolis, the, 59. 
Guiteau, Charles, 131. 
Gulf Stream, 14. 

Halifax Court House, 442, 448, 457. 
HaUeck, General H. W., 1-9, 
Hammond's Landing, 185. 
Hampton, Va., 11, 197. 
Hampton, General Wade, 328, 330, 

332 
Hampton Roads, 11, 154, 167, 196. 
Hancock, General W. S., 354. 
Hanna, Cadet Lieutenant, 302. 
"Happy Land of Canaan, The, 

song, 136, 168. 
Hardee, General W. J., 175. 
Harper's Ferry, 118, 135, 
Harrisons of Ampthill, 139. 
Harrisons of Clifton, 139. 
Harrisons of Elk Hill, 139, 147, 148. 
Harrison, President Benjamin, 239. 
Harrison, Burton, 215, 401, 444, 445. 
Harrison, Captain Julien, 147, 148. 
Harrison, Dr. Randolph, 69. 
Harrisonburg, Va., 291, 308> 
Harvie, Captain Edwin, 449. 
HaskeU, Captain John C, 340, 360. 
Hatch, Hon. W. H., of Missouri, 

409. 
Hatteras Inlet, 175. 
Hawkins, Colonel Rush, 189. 
Haxall, Dr. Robert W,, 70. 
Haxall, Miss Lucy, 69. 
Heath, Roscoe B., 70. 
Henrico Light Dragoons, 106. 
Henricopolis, 14. 



I"NDEX 



469 



Henry, Judge James, 27. 

Henry, Mary, 27. 

Henry, Patrick, 99, 100, 238. 

Henry, a slave of Colonel Preston, 

375-378. 
"Herald," New York, on tlie John 

Brown verdict, 130. 
Heth, General Harry, 328-330. 
High Bridge, Va., 425, 428, 435. _ 
Hill, Captain A. Govan, tactical 

officer of cadets, 299. 
Hill, General A. P., 326, 327, 301- 

361. 
Hobsons of Eastwood, 1.39. 
Hobsons of Howard's Neck, 139. 
Hobsons of Snowden, 139. 
Hog-killing time, joys of, 144, 145. 
Hoke, General, 330, 354. 
Hollywood Cemetery, 107, 189. 
Hopkins, Captain Stephen, 30, 48. 
Hospitals in Richmond, 394. 
Hotels, in South, why worthless, 65. 
Houston family, 239. 
Howardsville, Va., 137. 
Howell, the Misses, of the "White 

House set," 403. 
Hubards of Buckingham, 139. 
Huger, General Benjamin, 17.5-180. 
Hungers Creek. 18. 
Hunter, General David, his raid, 

310. 

Ignorance in the South, false ideas 

about, 63, 64. 
Ildefonso, Dr. 6, 7. 
Indians, 10, 11, 14. 
Irish, the hostility of Know-Nothings 

to, 53. 
Irish terriers, 44. 

Italian skies on Eastern Shore, 22. 
" It clamor et agmine facto," 439- 

441. 

Jackson, Andrew, 239. 

Jackson family, 239. 

Jackson, General " Mudwall," 379. 

Jackson, "Stonewall," 58, 61, 102, 

103, 169, 238, 240, 261, 268-270, 

330, 331, .356. 
James I., King, 11, 13. 
James II., King, 2.36. 
James River, 11, 63, 137, 196. 
James River valley, 137, 140. 
James River and Kanawha Canal, 

1.38. 
Jamestown, 13, 14. 
Jamestown, the steamer, 106, 199, 

205. 
"James River low grounds," 137- 

140, 



Jefferson, Cadet, killed, 302. 
Jefferson, Thomas, 54, 99, 100. 
Jetersville, Va., 416, 417. 
Jim, the butler, 122, 208, 210. 
"John Brown's Body," the song, 

136. 
"Johnny comes Marching Home," 

the song, 440. 
Johnson, Captain, and his coolies, 

192. 
Johnson, General Bushrod, 346, 354, 

358, 361, 434. 
Johnson, " Monkey," 30. 
Johnston, General Joseph E., 169, 

170, 176, 215, 449-453. 
Johnston, Mrs. Joseph E., 449. 
Johnston's army, 448, 453-457. 
Jones, Lieutenant Catesby, of the 

Virginia, 195, 202, 204. 
Jones, Cadet, killed, .302. 
Jordan, Colonel, of North Carolina, 

182, 183. 
Joynes family, 17, 29, 31. 

Kanawha valley, 170. 

Kansas, troubles in, 115. 

Kemper, General James L., 323, 

328, 329. 
Kennard family, 17, 29. 
" Kentucky gentleman would never 

take aAvay a bottle," 453. 
Kentucky thoroughbreds, 67. 
Kickotan, 11. 

Kictopeke, Indian chief, 10. 
King, Vice-President William R., 

48. _ 
Kinship on Eastern Shore, 16. 
Kite-flying, political, 55. 
Knights of the Golden Horseshoe, 

235. 
Know-Nothing campaign, 53-57. 
Knox, General Henry, 238. 

Lacy's Springs, 285. 

Lafayette College, Easton, Pa., 238. 

Lambert, Rev. Mr., 8. 

Lambert's Point, 164, 167, 196, 209. 

Lampkin, Captain, .360. 

Laughing King of Aecawmaeke, The, 
10, 11, 15. 

Laurel Brigade, 285. 

Leatherbury family, 17. 

Ledlie, Major-General, 354, 356. 

Lee, General Cnstis, 427, 428. 

Lee, General Fitzhugh, 328, 330, 333, 
337, 425, 426, 4.38. 

Lee, General Robert E.,6, 104, 1.32, 
133, 170, 177, 193, 215, 228, 288, 
302, .338, .326, 328, 330, 331, 340, 
345, 359, 361, 393, 428, 436. 



470 



INDEX 



Lee, General W. H. F., 328, 330, 

333, 425. 
Lee, Light Horse Harry, 334. 
Lee family, 10, 09. 
Lee's army, 59, 101, 200, 297, 330. 
Legare, Sidney, 92. 
Lewis, Andrew, 98. 
Lewis, John. 238. 
Lexington, Va., 100, 231, 233, 234, 

310. 
Liberty Hall Academy, 238. 
Libraries, private, in Virgima, 04. 
Lincoln, Abraham, 75, 110, 118, 131, 

134, 144, 157-100, 454. 
Lincoln, news of assassmation ot, 

454, 455. 
Littleton family, 17. . 

Logan, Governor, of Pennsylvania, 

Logans of Dungeness, 139, 279, 283. 
Lomax, Colonel, 101. 
Lomonizoff , Baron, 0. 
Long, General, 339. 
Longfellow, H. W., 134. 
Longstreet, General James, 327. 
Louis Napoleon, 92. 
Imray Gap, 295. 
Lynch, Commander, 182. 
Lynchburg, Va., 137, 313, 410. 
Lynnhaven Bay, 107. 
Lyons, Mary Power, 09. 
Lyons, Mr. and Mrs. James, 09, /O, 
75. 

McCabe, Captain W. Gordon, 354. 
McCausland, General John, 268, 310. 
McClellan, General George B., 1(0, 

171, 177, 214. 
McClungs, The, 239. 
McDoweU, Cadet, killed, 306. 
McDowells, The, 239 
McFarland. Mr. and Mrs., (.9, (0. 
McKinley, President William, 239. 
McLaughlin, Major, 2ft0, 300. 
McLaughlins, The 239. 
Mahone, General William, 2G8, .519- 
327. 330, 301, 372, 428. 

Mahone's brigade, 3()4. 

Male attire in 1850-00, 00. 

Mallory, Colonel Francis, 322. 

Mallory, Hon. Stephen, Secretary 
of the Navy, 402, 445. 

Malvern Hill, 214. 

Manassas, 1()2, 168,178. 

Manchester, Va., 457. 

Marshall, Chief Justice John, 99. 

Marshall, Colonel Charles 342, 42S 

Marshall, General Humphrey, 403, 
404. 

Mary Anne, a slave, 39. 



Maryland, State of, 11, 18, 29, 30, 

119. 
Mason, George, 99, 334. 
Mason, Hon. John Y., 92. 
Massachusetts and John Brown, 166. 
Massanutten Mountains, 295. 
Meade, General George G., 353, 3o0, 

358, 300, 463. 
Mechanicsville, Va., 214. 
Mecklenburg Resolutions, 238. 
Meherrin, Va., 417, 419, 422. 
Merrimae, the ship, 100, 172, IJl, 

193, 200, 209, 212. 
Merrimae and Monitor, 191-205. 
Merritt, Cadet, wounded, 299. 
Methodists, 10. 

Mexican War, 2, 4, 6, 30, 31, 268. 
Michaiix, of Michaux's Ferry, the, 

139. 
Milford Station, 308. 
Minnegerode, Rev. Charles, (0. 
Minnesota, the ship, 198, 201. 
Minor. Lieutenant R. D., 19o, 201, 

202. ■ 
Mobile, Ala., 101. 
Mohawk valley, 138. 
Monacon country, 235. 
Monitor, appearance of, 202, Mo. 
Monroe, President, 104, 112, 199. 
Montgomery, Ala., 101. 
Montgomery Guard, 110. 
Moores of Rockbridge, 239. 
Morson family, 09. ,„„,.„ 

Morsons of Dover,_the, 139, 143. 
Moseley family, 152. 
Mott, General, 324. 
Mount Airy, 304. 
Mount Custis, 29. 
Mount Jackson, 302. 
Mount Prospect, 29. 
Mules used for equipage, 67. 
Munford, Rev. >i\ illiam, 69. 
Music, at entertainments in ooutn, 

Myers, Major William B., 402. 



Nag's Head, N. C, 180, 181, 189. 
Nandua Creek, Va.. 18, 21k 
Nansemond River, Va., 10* , 196. 
Napoleon III., 92. ^^. . . 

National patriotism in \irguua in 

1858, 98. ,, ^. , , _ 

" Navy Hill Cats," Richmond, 59. 
Navy Yard at Norfolk, evacuation 

and burning of, 102, 104. 
Negro troops, first encounter with, 

.3(;() ; enhsted by Confederacy, 394, 

Nelson, Captain, of the Phoenix, 10. 
Nelson, General Thomas, »). 



INDEX 



471 



New Hampshire, 237. 

Newman, Isaac, sharpshooter, 349, 

350. 
Newmarket, Va., battle at, 294. 
Newport, Captain, 235. 
Newport News, 197. 
New York, 10, 14, 17, 105-112. 
New York Marine Artillery, 182. 
New York regiments, 105, 107, 182, 

199. 
Norfolk, Va., 17, 40, 152, 154, 157, 

160, 161, 167, 169, 175, 195, 206, 

209, 211, 365. 
Northampton County, Va., when 

formed, 15. 
North Carolina, coast of, 175, 206. 
North Carolina regiments, 186. 
Norwood, Colonel, 18. 
Nottingham family, 17, 29, 30, 

Occahannock Creek, 18. 

Oceanic, the steamer, 154. 

Ochiltree, Colonel Thomas P., 402, 
403. 

" Old Bald," Colonel J. T. L. Pres- 
ton, 261. 

Old Dominion, 17. 

"Old GiU," Colonel William Gil- 
ham, 261. 

" Old Jack," Stonewall Jackson, 261. 

Old Plantation Creek, Va., 18. 

" Old Polly," General R. E. Colston, 
261. 

" Old Spex," General F. H. Smith, 
245, 261. 

"Old Tom," Colonel T. H.William- 
son, 261. 

Oliver, Captain, 1.54. 

Onancock Creek, 18, 27, 48, 

" Only," my father's home, 27, 28. 

Ord, General, 354. 

" Oregon Hill Cats," Richmond, 59. 

Organ Mountains, 2. 

Ould, Major Robert, 409. 

" Our American Cousin," first seen, 
66. 

Page, Major Legh R., 409, 

Page family, ()9. 

Palmer, Rev. Dr., of New Orleans, 

145. 
Panic, creating a, 426, 427. 
Parke, General, 182, 187, 188. 
Parker, Lieutenant-Commander, 20'0. 
Parker, Captain W. W., of Parker's 

Battery, 340. 
Parker family, 17. 
Parramore family, 17. 
Pate, Henry Clay, captured by John 

Brown, 126. 



Patton, George, 30O. 
Patton's brigade, 298, 
Paul, Colonel Samuel, 361. 
Paulding, Commodore, 161, 
Paxton, General, burial of, 267. 
Paxtons, the, 239. 
Pegram, General John, 69. 
Pegram, Colonel William J., 59, 340. 
Pendergast, Lieutenant, 200. 
Penn heiresses, 69. 
Pennsylvania, the ship, 160. 
Pereival, Captain, U. S. N., 211. 
Periodicals, 64. 
Peterkin, Rev. Joshua, 70. 
Petersburg, 206, 297, 315, 317 ; mine 

at, 351, 352 ; evacuation of, 412^16, 
Philadelphia, 10, 17, 33, 34, 46, 78. 
Phillips, Wendell, 134. 
Pickett, General George E., 69, 330, 

.338, 339. 
Pickett's division, 329, 428. 
Piedmont, Va., 63. 
Pierce, President Franklin, 48, 49, 89, 

2;'>9. 

Pig Point Battery, 167, 

Pimlico Sound, 175, 

Pitts family, 17. 

Pizzini, Cadet, 302. 

Pleasants, Colonel Henry, mining 
engineer, 353. 

Pocomoke River, 11, 18. 

Pomegranates on Eastern Shore, 4, 

Pontoon bridge across river at Rich- 
mond, 457. 

Poore, Ben : Perley, 211, 

Porter, Midshipman, 186. 

Portsmouth,_Va., 209, 

Pottawatomie massacre, 126. 

Poulson family, 17, 30, 

Powhatan, 11, 13. 

Prentice, Clarence, 403, 

Presbyterians, 15, 

Preston family, 219, 239, 

Preston, Captain Frank, 293. 

Preston, Colonel J. T. L.. 261. 

Preston, Colonel Robert T., 372, 391, 

Preston, Captain Samuel, 360, 367, 
368, 

Price, Professor Thomas R., 69, 

Prices of commodities, 1864-65, 392, 

Prince of Wales, visit of, 155, 156. 

Princess Anne County, 158. 

Public Guard of Virginia, 59, 74, 106. 

Public schools in South, why none, 
64. 

PubUc spirit lacking, 65, 

Puritan blood, 34, 

Raleigh, the, 196, 201, 
Randolph, Hon. George W., 70. 



472 



INDEX 



Randolph, John, his home, 441, 442. 
Rappahannock River, 11. 
Raritan, the ship, 160. 
Reagan, Postmaster-General J. H.., 

402, 445. 
Reams' s Station, 328. 
Rebel VVill and Testament, 461, 

462. 
Redwood, Cadet, 297. 
Reed, Cadet, wounded, 299. 
Reeve, Major John, 455, 456. 
Reno, General, 182, 1«7, 188. 
Reveille, 254-256. 
Rhodes, General, 268. 
Richmond, Va., Vi, 38, 39, 43, 57, 03, 
71 118, 137, 212, 309, 310, 315, 32b, 
392, 393, 396, 457 ; news of evacua- 
tion of, 412-416. ,, . „„ 
Richmond " Enquirer, 80,90. 
Richmond Light Infantry Blues, 110, 

166, 170, 186, 188. 
Rio de Janeiro, 1, 2, 191. 
Rip-raps, 167, 196. 
Ritchie, Thomas, 90. 
Roanoke County, 236. 
Roanoke Island, 173, 190, 206. 
Roanoke, the ship, 198, 201 . 
Robertson, General, of Tennessee, 

379. 
Robins, Colonel Obedience, 15. 
Robins family, 17. 
Robinson, Colonel TuUy, 27. 
Robinson, Scarburgh, 27. 
Rockbridge County, 2^3, 236 
Rocky Mount, 212, 219, 223-227. 
Rocky Ridge Rifles, 106. 
Rolleston, 152, 157, 207, 209, 211. 
Roman, Colonel, 318. 
Ross family, 239. 
Rosser's brigade, 285, 
Rough and Ready, 30. 
Rude's Hill, 303. , , ., 

Rutherford, Miss Emdy and family, 

397, ff. 
Rutherfords of Rock Castle, 139. 



SaUors' Creek, 427, 428. 
Salt-boilers, in Accomack, 13. 
Saltville,Va 373-391.. 
Saunders's Alabama brigade, .ibt>. 
Savage family, 29. 
Scarburgh family. 17. , , . or 

Scarburgh, Captain Edmund, 15, 20. 
Scarburgh, Colonel Edmund, 17. 
Scarburgh, Sir Charles, 17. 
Scarburgh, Hannah, 26. 
Schofield, General, 210. 
School system, why there was none 

in the South, 64. 
Schools, 47, 48, 57, 70, 137, 140-166. 



Scotch-Irish Presbyterians, 235-243, 

293. 
Scott, Dame, of Fauquier, 69. 
Scott, General Wiulield, 102-104. 
Secession. 48, 135, 157. 
Seddon, Mrs., of Goochland, 69. 
Seddons of Sabot Hill, 139 
Selden, Lieutenant WiUiam U., 

killed, 186. 
Seldens of Orapaxand Norwood, 139. 
Selraa, Ala., 161. 
Semmes, Colonel Thomas M., 258. 
Sergeant, Hon. John, 33. 
Servants, domestic, in the South, <)0. 
Seven Days' Battles, 214. 
Seven Pines. 212. 
Seward, WiUiam H., 75, 116, 134, 

144. 
Sewell's Mountain, 170. 
SeweU's Point, 196, 209. 
Shaw, Colonel, of North Carolina, 

Shenandoah vaUey, 58, 233, 235, 288, 

•^10. ^, ... „.. 

Sheridan, General Philm, .w4. 
Sherman, General \V . T., 1, 9, 450. 

SI'cSU'scott, 246, 292, 298, 

302, 314. 
"Shockoe Hill Cats, ' Richmond, o9. 
Shot-making, Confederate, 276. 
Shriver, Cadet, 265-267; wounded, 

302. 
Sigel, General Franz, 291. 
Silver craze, 54. 
Simpkins family, 17. _ 
Sisson's Kingdom, 3S5-390. 
Skipwiths, the, 139. 
Slave-owner, referred to as, 47. 
Slave sale, 80. 
Slave trade, 4. 

Slavery, 34, 36, 48, 64, 80 148, 1.51 
"Slavery, The Divine Origin of, 

145. 
Slave's, scenes with, 47. 52, 74, 119, 
153, 318, 375, 433, 458 ; attitude ot 
the North toward escaped, 113, 
114. 
Slidell, Senator, 115. 
Smith family. 17. 29. 
Smith, General '" Baldy," 315. 
Smith, Commander, 200. 
Smith; General F. H., 100, 244 315. 
Smith, Jolm, 10; his map ot Vir- 
ginia, 12. 
Smithfield, Va., 14. 
Smith's Island, 10. 
Snead family, 29. 
Solomon, a slave, 47. 
Somersetshire, 26. 



INDEX 



473 



Sothern, Ned, 66. 

South Carolina, 145, 157. 

South Side, Va., 63. 

Southern flags first seen, 157-160. 

Southern ignorance, falsehoods con- 
cerning, 63, 64. 

Southside Railroad, 328, 416. 

Spartan Band of Richmond, 58. 

Speculation in Confederacy, 216-218. 

Spotswood, Governor, 235. 

Spottsylvania Court House, 308. 

Sprague, Cadet, 257. 

Stanard, Cadet, 297, 307. 

Stanard, Judge and Mrs., 69. 

Stanards of Bendover, 139. 

Stars and Stripes, 3, 9, 50, 160. 

Staunton, Va., 287, 289, 308. 

Staunton River bridge, 328. 

Stevenson, Major-General Carter, 
448. 

Stingaree, 12. 

Stingaree Point, 12. 

Strawberry Hill, Va., 214. 

Stuart, General J. E. B., 330. 

Sturtevant, Captain Nat, 340. 

St. Lawrence, the ship, 198, 201. 

Suffolk, Va., 210. 

Sugar Loaf Mountain, Rio de Ja- 
neiro, 1. 

Suggs family, 261, 367. 

Sumner, Charles, 114, 116, 117. 

Sumner, Colonel, U. S. A., 126. 

Surry County, Va., 12. 

Sussex County, Va., 12. 

Sutherlin, Major, of Danville, 444. 

Tabb, Colonel William B., 397. 

Taliaferro, General William B., 161. 

Tanner's Creek, 164. 

Tayloes, the, 219-221. 

Taylor, Colonel W. H., 342. 

Tazewell, Littleton, 68. 

Teniers paintings, stolen from Rol- 
leston, 208-211. 

Terrapin on Eastern Shore of Vir- 
ginia, 14. 

Thayer, Colonel, Founder of West 
Point Academy, 246. 

Theatre at Richmond, 93. 

Thompson, John R., 69. 

Tidewater, Va., 63. 

Tidewater Virginians, 365. 

Tinsley, Peter, 220. 

Tompkins, Captain Sally, 394. 

Topsy, 76, 77. 

Traveler, General Lee's horse, 343. 

Trevillian, Colonel John M., 139. 

Trimble, Colonel, killed, 383. 

Troop ships. United States, 1. 

Tucker, Commander, 199. 



Turkeys on Smith's map of Virginia, 

12. 
Turner, Nat, leader of insurrection, 

74. 
Tyler, President John, 159. 

" Uncle Tom's Cabin," the play seen, 

76. 
Uniform of Confederates, suggested 

by Seventh N. Y. Regiment, 111. 
Union officers, bearing of, towards 

Confederates, 457. 
Upshur family, 17, 29. 
Upshur's Neck, 29. 

Vassas, Mile., 70. 

Venable, Colonel Charles S., 342, 

360, 301. 
" Village Blacksmith," Herring's, 

208-210. 
Virginia capes, 10, 14. 
Virginia dismembered, 462. 
Virginia Military Institute, 100, 231, 

234, 244-275 ; burning of, 312. 
Virginia regiments, 186. 
Virginia settlers, various types of, 

232, 233. 
Virginia thoroughbreds, 67. 
Virginia's position in the Union in 

1856-60, 61-63. 
Viva voce voting, how conducted, 

55. 
Von Boerck, Baron Heros, 402, 405. 

Wade, Senator Benjamin, 115-117. 
Walker, General H. H., 412. 
Walker, General Lindsay, 214, 268. 
Waples family, 29. 
Ward family, 17. 
Warren, General, 354, 362. 
Warwick, Lieutenant Barksdale, 

318,398. 
Warwick, Bradfute, 69. 
Warwick family, 139. 
Washington, General Geoi^e, 50, 54, 

98, 138, 238, 286, 287. 
Washington, Colonel Lewis, 128. 
Washington and Jefferson College, 

238, 314. 
Washington and Lee University, 238. 
Washington statue, unveiling of, 

98. 
Watch crystals, speculation in, 217. 
Watts family, 219. 
Wedding, a Confederate, 397. 
Weisiger, General, 362. 
West Augusta, 236, 238. 
West family, 17. 

West, Lieutenant-Colonel John, 27. 
West, Matilda, 27. 



474 



INDEX 



West Point, 1, 3, 59, 100, 129, 175, 

176 234, 246. 
Whai'ton, General " Gabe," 293 296. 
Wheelwright, Cadet, killed, 302. 
'•White House set," 403. 
White Sulphur Springs, 67, 167. 
Whittier, John G., 134. 
Wide-awake processions, 403. 
Wigfall, Miss, 403. 
Wilkins, Sergeant, 422. 
Will, a rebel, 461. 
William and Mary College, 89, 165, 

236. 
Williamsburg, Va., 26. 
Williamson, Captam, U. O. JN-, i'-i 

192. 
Williamson, Colonel Thomas H., 

wflloughby's Spit 196, 209. 
Wilson, General James H., 6M, 666, 

.337. 
Wise famUy, 17, 23, 26. 



Wise, 
Wise, 
31, 
132, 

20(i, 

427, 
Wise, 
Wise, 

261, 
Wise, 

305, 
Wise, 
Wise, 

89, 
Wise, 

180 



Captain George D., 322, 327.^ 
Governor Henry A., 3-9, 2' 
38, 48-50, 53, 58, 79, lOS, lit 
157, 160, 165, 170, 191, 195, 
', 211, 297, 315, 346, 366, 394. 
438. 

Rev. Henry A., 165, 220, 442. 
Captain Henry A., Jr., 260, 
302. 
Louis, C. H. F., 214, 276, 

Cadet L. W., 261. 
Captain 0. Jennings, 69, 79, 

16(5, 173, 184, 186, 188, 189. 
, Hon. Richard A., 47, 4K, 91, 
, 195, 196, 207, 318, 431, 448. 



Yeardley family, 17. 

Yerby family, 29. 

Young, Brigham, 146. 

Young Guard Battalion, 106, 111. 

Young, John B., 70. 



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